uNivEf^sm  or 

CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEOO 


■J'  -'J 


CHEFS-D'OEUVRE 

DU 

ROMAN    CONTEA\PORAIN 


ROMANCISTS 


OF    THIS    EDITION, 

PRINTED   ON    JAPANESE  VELLUM  PAPER, 

ONLY   ONE   THOUSAND    COMPLETE   COPIES   ARE 

PRINTED    FOR   SALE 

No 


THE  ROMANCISTS 

JEAN   AICARD 

KING    OF    CAMARGUE 


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\^im^    Si    <(_^    V»^\K\S^SW^\^l     j-^\as\    M^'^Vi-i     5'3»-i«\\    ^i\.\    V^jJs    \\iS. 


But  by  the  thick,  curly  hair,  surmounted  by  a  tinsel 
crown,  by  the  general  contour  of  the  bust,  by  the  huge 
ear-rings  with  an- amulet  hanging  at  the  ends,  Livette 
recognized  a  certain  gipsy  woman  who  was,  universally 
known  as  the   Queen. 


V; 
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u^y 


ROMAN  CONTEMPORAIN 


JEAN   AICARD 


KING    OF  CAMARGUE 


FOURTEEN   ETCHINGS 


PHILADELPHIA 

PRINTED   ONLY    FOR    SUBSCRIBERS    BY 

GEORGE   BARRIE  &   SON 


COPYRIGHT,    1 901,   BY    GEORGE   BARRIE   A    SON 


THIS    EDITION    OF 

KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

HAS  BEEN  COMPLETELY  TRANSLATED 
BY 

GEORGE   B.   IVES 

THE     ETCHINGS    ARE     BY 

LOUIS  V.  RUET 

AND     DRAWINGS     BY 

GEORGE  ROUX 


TO    EMILE    TRELAT 


My  Very  Dear  Friend  : 

Permit  me  to  dedicate  this  book  to  you,  whose  incom- 
parable friendship  has  been  to  the  poet,  obstinate  in  his 
idealism,  of  hourly  assistance,  a  constant  proof  of  the 
reality  of  true  generosity  and  kindness  of  heart. 

Jean  Aicard. 

La  Garde,  near  Toulon,  April  ii,  i8go. 


KING  OF   CAMARGUE 


LIVETTE    AND    ZINZARA 

A  shadow  suddenly  darkened  the  narrow  window. 
Livette,  who  was  running  hither  and  thither,  setting  the 
table  for  supper,  in  the  lower  room  of  the  farm-house  of 
the  Chateau  d' Avignon,  gave  a  little  shriek  of  terror, 
and  looked  up. 

The  girl  had  an  instinctive  feeling  that  it  was  neither 
father  nor  grandmother,  nor  any  of  her  dear  ones,  but 
some  stranger,  who  sought  amusement  by  thus  taking 
her  by  surprise. 

Nor  a  stranger,  either,  for  that  matter, — it  was  hardly 
possible! — But  how  was  it  that  the  dogs  did  not  yelp? 
Ah !  this  Camargue  is  frequented  by  bad  people,  espe- 
cially at  this  season,  toward  the  end  of  May,  on  account 
of  the  festival  of  Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer,  which  at- 
tracts, like  a  fair,  such  a  crowd  of  people,  thieves  and 
gulls,  and  so  many  mischievous  gipsies  ! 

The  figure  that  was  leaning  on  the  outside  of  the 
window-sill,  shutting  out  the  light,  looked  to  Livette 
like  a  black  mass,  sharply  outlined  against  the  blue  sky ; 

3 


4  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

but  by  the  thick,  curly  hair,  surmounted  by  a  tinsel 
crown,  by  the  general  contour  of  the  bust,  by  the  huge 
ear-rings  with  an  amulet  hanging  at  the  ends,  Livette 
recognized  a  certain  gipsy  woman  who  was  universally 
known  as  the  Queen,  and  who,  for  nearly  two  weeks, 
had  been  suddenly  appearing  to  people  at  widely  distant 
points  on  the  island,  always  unexpectedly,  as  if  she  rose 
out  of  the  ditches  or  clumps  of  thorn-broom  or  the 
water  of  the  swamps,  to  say  to  the  laborers,  preferably 
the  women  :  ' '  Give  me  this  or  that ;  "  for  the  Queen, 
as  a  general  rule,  would  not  accept  what  people  chose  to 
offer  her,  but  only  what  she  chose  that  they  should  offer 
her. 

"Give  me  a  little  oil  in  a  bottle,  Livette,"  said 
the  young  gipsy,  darting  a  dark,  flashing  glance  at  the 
pretty  girl  with  the  fair,  sun-flecked  hair. 

livette,  charitable  as  she  was  at  every  opportunity,  at 
once  felt  that  she  must  be  on  her  guard  against  this 
vagabond,  who  knew  her  name.  Her  father  and  grand- 
mother had  gone  to  Aries,  to  see  the  notary,  who  Avould 
soon  have  to  be  drawing  up  the  papers  for  her  marriage 
to  Renaud,  the  handsomest  drover  in  all  Camargue. 
She  was  alone  in  the  house.  Distrust  gave  her  strength 
to  refuse. 

"Our  Camargue  isn't  an  olive  country,"  said  she 
curtly,  "oil  is  scarce  here.     I  haven't  any." 

"But  I  see  some  in  the  jar  at  the  bottom  of  the 
cupboard,  beside  the  water-pitcher." 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  5 

Livette  turned  hastily  toward  the  cupboard.  It  was 
closed;  but,  in  truth,  the  stock  of  olive  oil  was  there  in 
a  jar  beside  the  one  in  which  they  kept  Rhone  water  for 
their  daily  needs. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Livette. 

"The  lie  came  from  your  mouth  like  a  vile  black 
wasp  from  a  garden-ilower,  little  one  ! ' '  said  the  motion- 
less figure,  still  leaning  heavily  on  the  window-sill, 
evidently  determined  to  remain.  "The  oil  is  where  I 
say  it  is,  and  more  than  twenty-five  litres  too ;  I  can  see 
it  from  here.  Come,  come,  take  a  clean  bottle  and  the 
tin  funnel  and  give  me  quickly  what  I  want.  I'll  tell 
you,  in  exchange,  what  I  see  in  your  future." 

"It's  a  deadly  sin  to  seek  to  know  what  God  doesn't 
wish  us  to  know,"  said  Livette,  "and  you  can  guess 
that  oil  is  kept  in  cupboards  and  still  be  no  more  of  a 
sorceress  than  I  am.  Go  about  your  business,  good- 
wife.  I  can  give  you  some  of  this  bread,  fresh  baked 
last  night,  if  you  wish,  but  I  tell  you  I  haven't  any 
oil." 

"  And  why  do  they  call  you  Livette,"  said  the  Queen 
calmly,  "if  it  isn't  on  account  of  the  field  of  old  olive- 
trees — the  oldest  and  finest  in  the  country — owned  by 
your  father,  near  Avignon?  There  you  were  born. 
There  you  remained  until  you  were  ten  years  old,  and  at 
that  age — seven  years  ago,  a  mystic  number — you  came 
here,  where  your  father  was  made  farmer,  overseer 
of  drovers,  manager  of  everything,  by  the  Avignonese 


6  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

master  of  this  'Chateau  d' Avignon,'  the  finest  in  all 
Carmargue. — '  Livettes  !  livettes  ! '  that's  the  way  you 
used  to  ask  for  olivettes,  olives,  when  you  were  a 
baby.  You  were  very  fond  of  them,  and  the  nick- 
name clung  to  you.  A  pretty  nickname,  on  my  word, 
and  one  that  suits  you  well,  for  if  you're  not  dark 
like  the  ripe  olive,  you're  fair  as  the  virgin  oil,  a 
pearl  of  amber  in  the  sunlight,  and  then  you  are  not 
yet  ripe.  Your  face  is  oval,  and  not  stupidly  round  like 
a  Norman  apple.  You  have  the  pallor  of  the  olive-leaves 
seen  from  below. — And  that  you  may  soon  see  them  so, 
little  one,  is  the  blessing  I  ask  for  you,  as  the  cures  of 
your  chapels  say,  where  they  take  us  in  for  pity.  Be 
compassionate  as  they  are,  in  the  name  of  your  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  and  give  me  some  oil  quickly,  I  say — in  the 
name  of  extreme  unction  and  the  garden  of  agony  ! ' ' 

The  gipsy  had  said  all  this  without  stopping  to  breathe, 
in  a  dull,  monotonous,  muffled  voice,  but  she  added  ab- 
ruptly in  loud,  piercing,  incisive  tones  :  "  Do  you  under- 
stand what  I  say?"  imparting  to  those  simple  words  an 
extraordinarily  imperious  and  violent  expression.  Livette 
hastily  crossed  herself. 

"Come,  enough  of  this!  "  said  she,  "I  have  nothing 
here  for  you,  and  we  keep  the  oil  of  extreme  unction  for 
better  Christians  !  Begone,  pagan,  begone  !  "  she  added, 
trying  to  counterfeit  courage. 

"  Of  the  three  holy  women,"  continued  the  gipsy, 
**  who   took   ship,  after  the  death  of    Jesus  Christ,  to 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  j 

escape  the  crucifying  Jews,  one  was  like  myself,  an 
Egyptian  and  a  fortune-teller.  She  knew  the  science 
of  the  Magi,  of  those  with  whom  great  Moses  con- 
tended for  mastery  in  witchcraft.  She  could,  at  will, 
order  the  frogs  to  be  more  numerous  than  the  drops  of 
water  in  the  swamps,  and  she  held  in  her  hand  a  rod 
which,  at  her  word,  would  change  to  a  viper.  Before 
Jesus  she  bowed,  as  did  Magdalen,  and  Jesus  loved  her 
too.  In  the  tempest,  as  they  were  crossing  the  sea, 
her  wand  pointed  out  the  course  to  follow,  and,  to  do 
that  with  safety,  had  no  need  to  be  very  long.  Must 
you  have  more  pledges  of  my  power  and  my  knowledge  ? 
What  more  must  I  tell  you  to  induce  you  to  give  me  the 
oil  I  need  so  much?  If  you  were  a  man,  I  would  say: 
*  Look  !  I  am  dark,  but  I  am  beautiful !  I  am  a  de- 
scendant of  that  Sara  the  Egyptian  who,  when  the  boat 
of  the  three  holy  women  drew  near  the  sands  of  Ca- 
margue,  paid  the  boatman  by  showing  him  her  undefiled 
body,  stripped  naked,  with  no  thought  of  evil  and  with- 
out sin,  but  knowing  well  that  true  beauty  is  rare  and 
that  the  mere  sight  of  it  is  better  than  all  the  treasures 
of  Solomon.     So  be  it !  " 

Livette  was  thoroughly  alarmed.  The  gipsy's  assur- 
ance, her  hollow,  penetrating  voice,  imperious  by  fits 
and  starts,  these  strange  tales  filled  with  evil  words  on 
sacred  subjects,  this  devilish  mixture  of  things  pagan 
and  things  mystic,  the  consciousness  of  her  own  loneli- 
ness, all  combined  to  terrify  her.     She  lost  her  head. 


8  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

"Away  with  you,  away  with  you,"  she  cried,  ''queen 
of  robbers  !  queen  of  brigands  !  away  with  you,  or  I  will 
call  for  help!  " 

"  Your  drover  won't  hear  you ;  he's  tending  his  drove 
to-day  beside  the  Vaccares.  Come,  give  me  the  oil,  I 
say,  or  I'll  throw  this  black  wand  on  the  ground,  and 
you -will  see  how  snakes  bite!  " 

But  Livette,  brave  and  determined,  said:  "No!" 
shuddering  as  she  said  it,  and,  to  glean  a  little  comfort, 
cast  a  glance  at  the  low  beam  along  which  her  father's 
gun  was  hanging.     The  gipsy  saw  the  glance. 

"Oh  !  I  am  not  afraid  of  your  gun,"  said  she,  "and 
to  prove  it — wait  a  moment !  ' ' 

She  left  the  window.  The  light  streamed  into  the  room, 
bringing  a  little  courage  to  Livette's  terrified  heart,  as 
she  followed  the  gipsy  with  her  eyes.  In  the  bright 
light  of  that  beautiful  May  evening,  the  gipsy  woman 
stood  out,  a  tall  figure,  against  the  distant,  unbroken 
horizon  line  of  the  Camargue  desert,  which  could  be 
seen  through  a  vista  between  the  lofty  trees  of  the  park. 

Livette  felt  a  thrill  of  joy  as  she  saw  a  troop  of  mares 
trotting  along  the  horizon,  followed  by  their  driver, 
spear  in  air  —  Jacques  Renaud,  her  fianc6,  without 
doubt. — But  how  far  away  he  was  !  the  horses,  from 
where  she  stood,  looked  smaller  than  a  flock  of  little 
goats.  And  her  eyes  came  back  to  the  gipsy  queen. 
A  few  steps  from  the  farm-house,  in  front  of  the  seign- 
iorial chateau,  a  huge  square  structure,  with  numerous 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  9 

windows,  long  closed, — a  structure  of  the  sort  that 
arouses  thoughts  of  neglect  and  death  and  the  grave, — 
the  gipsy  stood  on  tiptoe,  drawing  down  the  lowest 
branch  of  a  thorn-tree.  The  thorns  were  long,  as  long 
as  one's  finger.  With  a  twig  of  a  tree  of  that  species 
the  crown  of  the  Crucified  One  was  made. 

She  broke  off  a  twig  thickset  with  thorns,  bent  it  into 
a  circle,  twisting  the  two  ends  together  like  serpents,  and 
returned  to  the  window. 

Livette  noticed  at  that  moment  that  the  two  watch- 
dogs were  following  the  gipsy,  with  their  tails  between 
their  legs,  their  noses  close  to  her  heels,  with  little 
affectionate  whines.  And  she,  the  gipsy  Queen,  as 
slender  as  haughty,  erect  upon  her  legs,  in  a  ragged 
skirt  with  ample  folds  through  the  holes  in  which  could 
be  seen  a  bright  red  petticoat,  her  bust  enveloped  in 
orange-colored  rags  crossed  below  her  well-rounded 
breasts,  her  amulets  tinkling  at  her  ears,  medallions 
jangling  on  her  forehead,  which  was  encircled  by  a  gaudy 
fillet  of  copper, — she,  the  Queen,  came  forward,  hold- 
ing in  her  hand  the  crown  of  long  stiff  thorns,  to  which 
a  few  tiny  green  leaves  clung  in  quivering  festoons ; — 
and  in  a  low,  very  low  tone,  she  murmured  the  same 
caressing  plaint  that  the  two  great  cowed  dogs  were 
murmuring,  saying  to  them,  in  their  own  language, 
mysterious  things  they  understood. 

"Take  this,"  said  the  gipsy,  "let  your  kind  heart 
be  rewarded  as  it  deserves  !      Misfortune,   which  is  at 


lO  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

work  for  you,  will  soon  make  itself  known  to  you.  How, 
may  God  tell  you !  In  love,  the  wind  that  blows  for 
you  is  poisoned  by  the  swamps.  The  charity  your 
God  enjoins  is,  so  they  say,  another  form  of  love  that 
brings  true  love  good  fortune.  And  here  is  my  queenly 
gift!" 

She  threw  the  crown  of  thorns  through  the  window  at 
Livette's  feet. 

"Madame  !  "  exclaimed  Livette  in  dismay. 

But  the  gipsy  had  disappeared. 

Infinite  distress  filled  the  poor  child's  heart.  With 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  crown,  Livette  recalled  the  legends 
in  which  the  good  Lord  Jesus  appears  disguised  as  a 
beggar — and  in  which  He  rewards  those  who  have  re- 
ceived Him  with  sweet  compassion. 

In  one  of  those  legends,  the  Poor  Man,  welcomed 
with  harsh  words,  subjected  to  mockery  and  cowardly 
insults,  struck  with  staves  and  goblets  and  bottles  thrown 
by  drunken  revellers — at  last,  standing  against  the  wall, 
begins  to  be  transformed  into  a  Christ  upon  the  Cross, 
bleeding  at  the  holes  in  his  hands  and  feet  !— And,  sick 
with  terror,  she  asked  herself  if  she  had  not  received 
with  unkindness  one  of  the  three  holy  Avomen  who,  after 
the  death  of  Jesus,  crossed  the  sea  in  a  boat  to  the 
shores  of  Camargue,  using  their  skirts  for  sails,  and 
assisted  by  the  oars  of  a  boatman,  whom  one  of  their 
number,  Sara  the  Egyptian,  paid  in  heathen  coin,  by 
allowing  him  to  see,  as  the  price  of  a  Christian  action, 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  ii 

her  undefiled  body,  entirely  naked,  upon  the  self-same 
spot  on  which  the  church  stands  to-day. 

Slowly  she  picked  up  the  crown  and  threw  it  into  the 
fire  over  which  the  soup  was  stewing.  Before  it  melted 
into  ashes,  the  crown  of  thorns  seemed  for  a  moment  to 
be  pure  gold. 


II 


IN    CAMARGUE 

Every  year,  at  Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer,  the  village 
that  stands  at  the  southern  end  of  Camargue,  above  the 
marshes,  on  a  sand  beach,  the  line  of  which  is  con- 
stantly changed  by  the  action  of  the  waves  and  high 
winds,  every  year,  the  feast  of  Saintes-Maries  is  cele- 
brated on  May  24th ;  and  at  the  time  of  that  festival 
the  gipsies  flock  to  Camargue  in  large  numbers,  im- 
pelled by  a  curious  sort  of  piety,  mingled  with  a  desire 
to  pilfer  the  pilgrims. 

Legends,  like  trees,  spring  from  the  soil, — are  its 
expression,  so  to  speak.  They  are  also  its  essence.  At 
every  step  in  Camargue,  you  find  the  everlasting  legend 
of  the  holy  women,  just  as  you  everlastingly  see  there 
the  same  tamarisk-trees,  confused,  against  the  horizon, 
with  the  same  mirages. 

The  two  Marys,  so  runs  the  legend,  Jacobe,  Salome, 

and  —  according  to   some   authorities — Magdalen,   and 

with  them  their  bondwomen,  Marcella  and  Sara,  adrift 

on  the  sea  in  a  boat  without  masts  or  sails,  pursued  by 

13 


14  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

the  accursed  Jews,  after  the  Saviour's  death,  spread 
to  the  breeze  strips  of  their  skirts  and  their  long,  thin 
veils,  and  the  wind  carried  them  to  this  beach  at 
Camargue. 

There  a  church  was  built.  The  sacred  bones,  found 
by  King  Rene,  were  enclosed  in  a  reliquary,  which  has 
never  ceased  to  perform  miracles.  And  every  year, 
from  every  corner  of  Provence,  from  the  Comtat  and 
from  Languedoc,  the  last  of  the  believers  throng  to  the 
spot,  bringing  their  aspirations  and  their  prayers,  drag- 
ging with  them  their  sick  friends  and  kindred,  or  their 
own  wretchedness,  their  wounds  and  their  lamentations. 

Nothing  more  strange  can  be  imagined  than  this  land 
of  desolation,  traversed  every  year  by  a  multitude  of 
cripples  on  their  way  to  hope  ! 

From  afar,  at  the  end  of  the  desert  tract,  can  be  seen 
the  battlemented  church  that  tells  of  the  wars  of  long 
ago,  of  Saracen  invasions,  of  the  precarious  life  led  by 
the  poor  in  the  Middle  Ages.  It  stands  there  with  its 
turrets  and  its  bell-tower,  which,  like  the  stumps  of 
gigantic  masts,  tower  above  the  cluster  of  houses  grouped 
about  it;  and  the  village,  cut  at  about  mid-height  of 
the  lower  houses  by  the  horizon  line  of  the  sea,  seems 
drifting  like  a  phantom  ship  among  the  billows  of  sand, 
like  the  boat  of  the  holy  women  of  the  olden  time, 
doomed  to  founder  at  last  in  the  desolation  of  the  desert. 

In  this  Camargue  everything  is  strange.  There  are 
ponds  like  the  huge  central  pond,  the  Vaccares,  in  the 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  15 

centre  of  which  one  can  wade  with  ease ;  there  are  tracts 
of  land  where  the  pedestrian  sinks  out  of  sight  and  is 
drowned.  Here  deception  is  easy.  Yonder  green  sh'me 
that  you  take  for  a  level  plain — beware  ! — men  are 
drowned  therein;  those  vast  stretches  of  water  which 
seem  to  you  small  seas — return  that  way  to-morrow; 
they  will  have  evaporated,  leaving  only  a  mirror  of  white 
salt  that  crackles  beneath  your  feet.  Yonder,  do  you  see 
the  calm,  deep  water  ?  and  trees  on  the  shore  ?  Ah  !  no, 
you  can  run  along  the  surface  of  that  water ;  it  is  dry 
land;  the  mirage  alone  formed  those  trees,  just  as  it 
showed  you  the  little  child  walking  a  league  away, 
apparently  near  at  hand  and  very  tall.  A  land  of 
visions,  dreams,  and  hard  work.  A  land  of  sedentary 
folk,  who  inhabit  a  vast  space  on  the  shore  of  endless 
waters,  with  an  infinity  of  variations  of  mirages,  sun- 
beams, reflections,  and  bright  colors.  A  land  of  fever, 
where  strong  men  daily  bring  wild  bulls  to  earth.  A 
land  of  leave-takings,  for  it  is  on  the  confines  of  an 
almost  uninhabited  land,  on  the  shore  of  that  great  blue 
and  white  thoroughfare,  the  sea  ;  just  at  the  point  where 
the  Rhone,  coming  from  the  mountains,  sets  out  upon 
its  long  journey  to  the  bottomless  waters,  where  the  sun 
will  take  it  up  again  to  restore  it  to  its  source.  An  im- 
pressive land,  which  one  feels  to  be  the  end  of  so  many 
things ;  of  the  great  city-making  river,  of  the  great 
expiring  Faith,  which  flies  to  the  sands  to  breathe  its 
last,  with  its  dying  waves  beating  at  the  foundations  of  a  - 


l6  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

poor  battlemented  church,  amid  the  psalms,  mingled 
with  lamentations  of  a  dying  race. 

The  ceremony  of  May  24th,  at  Saintes-Maries-de-la- 
Mer,  is  unquestionably  one  of  the  most  barbarous  spec- 
tacles which  men  of  modern  times  are  permitted  to 
witness. 

Since  science  made  the  conquest  of  men's  minds,  the 
faith  of  the  last  believers  has  changed.  The  most  bigoted 
know,  of  course,  that  God  can  manifest  Himself  when 
and  how  He  pleases,  but  they  also  know  that  He  never 
pleases,  in  our  positive  days,  to  modify  the  movements 
of  the  vast  mechanism  of  His  creation,  not  even  for  the 
lowly  pleasure  of  proving  His  existence  to  His  creatures. 
The  faith  of  civilized  men  no  longer  expects  anything 
from  Heaven  in  this  world. 

Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer,  on  the  24th  of  May,  is  the 
rendezvous  of  the  last  savages  of  the  Faith. 

They  who  come  to  pray  to  the  holy  women  for  health 
of  body  and  of  heart  are  unpolished  creatures  of  a 
primitive  belief.  They  believe,  and  that  is  the  whole  of 
it.  A  cry,  a  prayer,  and,  in  reply,  the  saints  can  give 
them  what  they  have  not :  eyes,  legs,  arms,  life  !  And 
they  ask  them  to  perform  a  miracle  as  artlessly  as  a  con- 
demned man  implores  his  pardon  from  the  head  of  the 
State.  That  their  prayers  should  be  granted  is  quite  as 
possible,  almost  more  probable,  for  the  saints  have  more 
pity.  The  few  thousands  of  believers — it  is  long  since 
their  numbers  have  been  added  to — who  pay  a  visit  to 


(tf^apttx  M 


From  afar,  at  the  end  of  the  desert  tract,  can  be  seen 
the  battlemented  church  that  tells  of  the  wars  of  long 
ago,  of  Saracen  invasions,  of  the  precarious  life  led  by 
the  poor  in  the  Middle  Ages. 


«'^' 


Di.,  mingled 

es-Maries-de-la- 

>Nt  barbarous  spec- 

.    i.mes   are  permitted  to 

Saice  sciencf  conquest  of  men's  minds,  the 

faith  of  tlie  last  -  has  changed.    The  most  bigoted 

know,  of  cours'  wjr  i  l  .1  x.ip*|inanifest  Himself  when 
and  how  He  please*,  but  they  also  know  that  He  never 
pleases,  in  our  •  days,  to  modify  the  movements 

of  the  vast  TiiC(.;i;7iu'im  qf  His  creation,  nokeven^for  the 
lowlv  nl(^asur(..'  oi  i  rovmg  His  existence  to  His  creatures, 
•i'  Th>  l.ufn  of  '  ivrti/ea  men  no  longer  expects  anything 

Sa.ntes-Man.  ^?W^^n^W^4!ft%P«^il^hle 

rendezvous  of  t  ^ivages  of  the  Faith. 

They  who  come  to  pray  to  the  holy  women  for  health 
of  body  and  of  htart  are  unpolished  creatures  of  a 
primitive  belief.  Thev  l^elieve,  and  that  is  the  whole  of 
it.     A  cry,  a  pray.  .  in  reply,  the  saints  can  give 

them  what  they  h.i  yes,  legs,  arms,  life  !     And 

ask  them  to  |^  x  miracle  as  artlessly  as  a  con- 

tieiiuied  man  i'  n  from  the  head  of  the 

c  granted  is  quite  as 

iie  saints  have  more 

since 

lO 


■^ 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  17 

the  saints  every  year,  see  one  or  two  miracles  on  each 
occasion.  When  the  priest,  coming  from  the  church, 
followed  by  a  procession,  stretches  out  toward  the  sea 
the  Silver  Ann  which  contains  the  relics,  they  see  the 
sea  recede  !  That  happens  every  year.  Imagine,  then, 
how  strenuously  they  importune  the  saints  who  can  do 
so  much  with  so  little  exertion  !  with  what  energy  they 
hurry  to  the  spot !  with  what  sighs  they  pour  out  their 
hearts  !  with  what  a  howling  they  utter  their  prayers  ! 
with  what  fervor  they  raise  their  eyes,  stretch  out  their 
necks  and  their  arms!  All,  all  in  vain.  The  last  pos- 
turings  of  the  great,  fruitlessly  imploring  sorrow  are  to 
be  seen  there,  in  that  desert  corner  of  France,  between 
the  arms  of  that  dying  stream,  on  the  shore  of  the  sea 
that  is  eating  away  the  island ;  beneath  the  arches 
of  yonder  church,  so  white  without,  so  black  within, 
wherein  every  hand  holds  a  taper,  flickering  like  a  star 
of  human  misery,  which  burns  for  God  and  greases  the 
fingers,  and  for  which  the  beggar,  whose  heart  would  be 
made  glad  by  a  single  sou,  must  pay  five  sous. 

The  whole  region  seems  to  be  at  once  the  highway  to 
exile,  and  a  wild  place  of  refuge.  Therefore,  the  gipsies 
love  it.  It  is  one  of  the  main  cross-roads  of  their  inter- 
lacing highways  which  envelop  the  whole  world ;  it  is 
one  of  the  favorite  countries  of  the  race  that  has  no 
country. 

And  every  year,  the  gipsies  come  to  Camargue  to 
enjoy  their  very  ancient  privilege  of  occupying  a  black 


l8  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

crypt  or  underground  chapel,  under  the  choir  of  the 
church,  consecrated  to  Saint  Sara  the  Egyptian. 

In  that  cavern  they  can  be  seen  crouching  at  the  foot 
of  an  altar  whereon  is  a  little  shrine — Saint  Sara's — all 
filthy  from  much  kissing,  while  above,  in  the  church,  the 
great  shrines  of  the  two  Marys  are  lowered  from  the 
vaulted  roof  amid  vociferous  prayers. 

There,  in  the  crypt,  the  gipsies  sit  upon  their  haunches, 
curly-headed,  hot-lipped,  sweating  profusely,  amid  hun- 
dreds of  candles,  which  exude  tallow  and  overheat  the 
stifling  oven,  telling  their  greasy  beads,  exhaling  an 
odor  similar  to  that  of  wild  beasts  in  their  den,  emit- 
ting from  time  to  time  a  hoarse  appeal  to  Saint  Sara, 
wearing  the  smile  of  premeditated  crime  upon  their 
faces  mingled  with  the  grimace  due  to  remorse  that 
may  be  sincere ;  looking  with  envious  eye  at  every 
sou,  pilfering  handkerchiefs,  scratching  their  wounds, 
swarming  in  a  mysterious  dunghill,  where  one  feels,  in 
spite  of  everything,  that  some  mystic  flower  is  spring- 
ing into  life,  the  involuntary  aspiration  of  depravity 
toward  purity. 

Early  in  May  of  this  year,  the  band  of  gipsies  had 
brought  with  them  to  the  saints  a  young  woman  whom 
they  called  their  "  Queen." 

This  "  Queen,"  pending  the  arrival  of  the  approach- 
ing fete-day,  passed  i)art  of  her  time  seated  on  the 
wooden  bench  under  the  canopy  of  thorn-broom  erected 
by  the  customs'  officers  between  two  tamarisks,  on  the 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  19 

sand-dune  just  in  front  of  the  village;  and  there  she  sat 
and  gazed  at  the  sea. 

Her  name  was  Zinzara. 

Her  thick,  black,  wavy  hair  was  twisted  carelessly 
into  a  mass  on  top  of  her  head.  Two  locks  came  for- 
ward to  her  temples,  which  were  sunken  and  filled  with 
shadows.  Her  piercing  black  eyes  gleamed  from  beneath 
her  thick  arching  eyebrows.  A  copper  circlet  with 
sequins  hanging  from  it  was  placed  upon  her  forehead, 
slightly  at  one  side,  after  the  manner  of  a  crown. 

The  glaringly  bright  materials  in  which  she  enveloped 
her  figure  revealed  the  outline  of  her  powerful  chest, 
and  her  hips  that  swayed  at  every  step  she  took.  And 
the  fragment  that  formed  her  skirt  fell  in  graceful 
folds,  beneath  which  her  naked  foot  peeped  out,  glis- 
tening with  sand. 

Evening  surprised  her  upon  her  bench  beneath  the 
broom,  looking  out  upon  the  sea.  The  sun  tinged  the 
waves  and  the  sand  with  golden  yellow,  then  with  red. 
The  night  wind  made  the  reeds  and  rushes  quiver. 
Slowly  the  gipsy  drew  a  bright-colored  handkerchief 
from  her  girdle  and  arranged  it  on  her  head.  She  put 
it  over  her  face  to  tie  the  ends  together  behind  the  mass 
of  hair,  then  raised  it  and  threw  it  over  her  head,  so 
that  it  fell  upon  her  back.  Thus  arranged  as  a  head- 
dress, it  framed  the  face  in  stiff,  broad  folds,  falling  on 
both  sides,— and  the  Egyptian,  her  hands  spread  out 
upon  her  knees,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  horizon,  resembled 


20  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

some  figure  of  Isis,  while  about  her  a  flock  of  red 
flamingoes  or  a  solitary  ibis,  in  hieroglyphic  cries,  told 
the  sands  of  Camargue  and  the  rushes  of  the  Rhone 
tales  of  the  sands  of  Libya  and  the  lotus-trees  of  the 
Nile. 


Ill 


THE    DROVERS 

Jacques  Renaud,  Livette's  lover,  was  employed  as 
drover  of  bulls  and  horses  in  this  strange  Camargue 
country,  on  the  estate  of  the  Chateau  d' Avignon. 

The  inanades,  or  droves,  of  Camargue  bulls  and 
mares  live  at  liberty  in  the  vast  moor,  leaping  the 
ditches,  splashing  through  the  swamps,  browsing  on  the 
bitter  grass,  drinking  from  the  Rhone,  running,  jump- 
ing, wallowing,  neighing  and  lowing  at  the  sun  or  the 
mirage,  lashing  vigorously  with  their  tails  the  swarms 
of  gadflies  clinging  to  their  sides,  then  lying  down  in 
groups  on  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  knees  doubled  under 
their  bulky  bodies,  tired  and  sleepy,  their  dreamy  eyes 
fixed  vaguely  on  the  horizon. 

The  mounted  drovers  leave  them  at  liberty,  but  keep 
a  watchful  eye  on  their  freedom ;  and  according  to  the 
time  of  year  and  the  condition  of  the  pasturage,  "round 
up"  their  herds,  keep  them  together,  and  direct  their 
movements. 

21 


22  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

In  the  distance,  as  they  sit  motionless,  and  straight  as 
arrows,  on  their  saddles  d  la  gardiane,  astride  their  white 
horses,  with  the  spear-head  resting  on  the  closed  stirrup, 
they  resemble  knights  of  the  Middle  Ages,  awaiting  the 
flourish  of  the  herald's  trumpet  to  enter  the  lists. 

The  Camargue  horse,  with  his  powerful  hind-quarters, 
stout  shoulders,  head  a  little  heavy, — an  excellent  beast 
withal, — is  descended  from  Saracen  mares  and  the  palfrey 
of  the  Crusades.  He  still  wears  antique  trappings.  Huge 
closed  stirrups  strike  against  his  sides ;  the  broad  strap 
of  the  martingale  passes  through  a  heart-shaped  piece  of 
leather  on  his  chest,  and  the  saddle  is  an  easy-chair, 
wherein  the  rider  sits  between  two  solid  walls,  the  one 
in  front  as  high  as  that  at  his  back. 

At  certain  times,  when  the  best  pasturage  is  on  the 
other  bank  of  the  Rhone,  the  drovers  drive  their 
nianades  toward  the  river.  When  they  reach  the  shore, 
they  press  close  upon  them  to  force  them  in.  The 
earth-colored  water  of  the  river  (lows  bubbling  by. 
The  beasts  hesitate.  Some  slowly  put  their  heads  down 
to  the  stream  and  drink,  not  knowing  what  is  required 
of  them.  Others  suddenly  show  signs  of  life  at  the 
"singing"  of  the  water,  stretch  their  necks,  breathe 
noisily,  and  low  and  neigh.  A  horse,  urged  forward  by 
a  drover,  rebels  and  rushes  back,  then  rears  and  falls 
backward  into  the  water,  which  splashes  mightily  under 
the  weight  of  his  great  body;  but  he  has  made  a  start; 
he  swims,  and  all  the  others  follow.    Muzzles  and  nostrils, 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  23 

manes  and  horns,  wave  wildly  about  above  the  river, 
which  is  now  a  swarm  of  heads.  They  blow  foam  and 
air  and  water  all  around.  More  than  one,  in  jovial 
mood,  bites  at  a  neighboring  rump.  Feet  rise  upon 
backs,  to  be  shaken  off  again  with  a  quick  movement 
of  the  spinal  column,  and  thrown  back  into  the  waves. 
Sometimes  a  frightened  beast,  confused  by  the  plunging 
and  kicking,  tries  to  return  to  the  bank,  and,  being 
driven  in  once  more  by  the  drovers,  loses  his  head, 
follows  the  current,  sails  swiftly  seaward,  feels  his 
strength  failing,  drinks,  struggles,  turns  over  and  over, 
plunges,  drinks  again,  founders  at  last  like  a  vessel  and 
disappears. 

Finally  the  bulk  of  the  drove  has  reached  the  opposite 
bank,  and  there  they  shake  themselves  in  the  sunlight, 
snort  with  delight,  and  caper  over  the  fields.  Tails  lash 
sides  and  buttocks.  Some  young  horses,  excited  by  their 
bath,  scamper  away,  side  by  side,  toward  the  horizon, 
biting  at  the  long  hairs  of  each  other's  flying  manes. 

Then  it  is  the  turn  of  the  drovers.  Some  ride  their 
horses  into  the  river.  Others,  in  the  midst  of  the  rear- 
guard of  the  manade,  guide,  with  the  paddle,  a  flat- 
bottomed  boat  that  a  blow  of  the  foot  would  shatter, 
and  their  horses,  held  by  their  bridles,  swim  behind. 

At  other  times,  the  drovers  are  employed  driving  from 
the  plains  of  Meyran  or  Aries,  Avignon,  Nimes,  Aigues- 
Mortes  to  the  branding-places  at  Camargue  the  bulls 
that  are  to  take  part  in  the  sports  at  the  latter  place. 


24  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

These  bulls  sometimes  travel  in  captivity,  in  a  sort  of 
high  enclosure,  without  a  floor,  mounted  on  wheels  and 
drawn  by  horses ;  the  bulls  walk  along  the  groubd,  beat- 
ing their  horns  against  the  resonant  wooden  walls. 

Generally  the  bulls  go  to  the  games  unconfined,  but 
under  the  eye  of  mounted  drovers,  spear  in  hand. 

These  journeys  are  made  at  night.  As  they  pass 
through  the  villages,  the  people  rush  to  their  windows. 
The  young  men  are  on  the  watch  for  the  "cattle"  and 
try  to  drive  them  out  of  the  circle  of  drovers,  who  lose 
their  temper,  and  swear  and  strike  :  that  sport  is  called 
the  abrivade.  In  Aries,  if  the  bulls  happen  to  arrive  by 
daylight,  the  drovers  have  a  hard  task,  for  all  the  young 
men  in  the  city  do  their  utmost  to  break  the  line  of 
horsemen,  in  order  to  cut  out  one  bull,  or  several,  if 
possible,  and  then  drive  them  through  the  city.  The 
city  assumes  a  posture  of  defence.  Overturned  carts 
barricade  the  ends  of  the  streets.  Shops  are  closed. 
The  bull,  in  a  frenzy,  rushes  here  and  there,  stands 
musing  for  a  moment  at  the  corners,  decides  to  take  a  cer- 
tain direction,  rushes  at  a  passer-by,  knocks  him  down, 
and  generally  selects  the  shop  of  a  dealer  in  crockery  and 
glassware  in  which  to  make  merry,  amid  the  shouts  of  an 
excited  populace. 

The  drovers  are  a  free,  fearless,  savage  race,  a  little 
contemptuous  of  cities,  devoted  to  their  desert. 

A  drover  is  at  home  alike  in  sun  and  rain,  in  the  wind 
from  the  land,  and  the  wind  from  the  sea. 


ari)apter  M5 


In  the  distance,  as  they  sit  motionless,  and  straight  as 
arrows,  on  their  saddles  a  la  gardiane,  astride  their  white 
horses,  with  the  spear-head  resting  on  the  closed  stirrup, 
they  resemble  knights  of  the  Middle  Ages,  awaiting  the 
flourish  of  the  herald's  trumpet  to  enter  the  lists. 


V  ity,  in  a  sort  of 

oiinted  on  wheels  and 

long  the  grouYid,  beat- 

C'uant  wooden  walls. 

CieiuT  -J  the  games  unconfined,  but 

,  drovers,  spear  in  hand, 
made  at   night.      As   they  pass 
tj,  .  people  rush  to  their  windows. 

The  }  are  on  the  watch  for  the  '"cattle"  and 

tr>'  to  drive  ;  J^J'^^^ftBrt^  '^^  drovers,  who  lose 
their  temper,  "id  s.vcar  and  strike:  that  sport  is  called 
ihc  aiirivaiit  rles,  if  the  bulls  happen  to  arrive  by 

,fa!:'  -i;^,    .  '^'-">-i^  line  of 

;.    .       ,  to    ^  ••*   ■•   '    •■•  ■.  V  •!:;:.    ;r 

}>ossri^  ■  City,      ihe 

barricM^\ti\-'^^^^\;^l«?^^^'^r<eV^V^^^%I^iy^s\^^HH^d. 
The   bull,  in  a  frenzy,  rushes  here   and   there,  stands 
musing  for  a  moment  at  the  corners,  decides  to  take  a  cer- 
tain direction,  rushes  at  a  passer-by,  knocks  him  down, 
:in;1  ^rgneraliy  selects  the  shop  of  a  dealer  m  crockery  and 
vare  in  which  to  n^  l-'-  '.wrrv,  amid  the  shouts  of  an 
'  ■  populace. 

-•^^ers  are  a  -   ^avage  race,  a  little 

■  .^f '■'■♦'■«-  iir  desert. 

3  a.  .  jiw..  .>M.^..  :.  ^  rain,  in  the  wind 

'    md  the  wind  i 


■^"*»liH, 


i^O'-i^ 


W^  ,'H" 


'>.* 


\f^'^!!»^^''^ 


;^ 


.*K-=r^    ,rJS=^Sar 


C\\?0-'-K.     --=^ 


V-       .,(11!^ 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  25 

A  drover  knows  how  to  deal  blows  and  to  receive 
them ;  he  pursues  a  bull  at  the  gallop,  and  with  a  blow 
of  the  spear  upon  his  flank,  judiciously  selecting  his  time, 
"fells"  him  unerringly. 

He  knows  the  trick  of  pursuing  a  wild  bull  making 
for  the  open  country.  His  well-trained  horse  bites  the 
furious  beast  on  the  hind-quarters,  and  he  turns.  The 
drover,  spear  in  rest,  pricks  the  bull  in  the  nose  as  he 
rushes  upon  him,  and  checks,  him. 

Sometimes  a  drover,  on  foot  and  alone,  pursued  by  a 
cow  with  calf,  and  apparently  in  imminent  danger  from 
the  furious  beast,  will  suddenly  turn  about,  and — with 
arm  outstretched,  as  if  he  held  his  spear — point  his  three 
fingers  at  the  animal,  separated  so  as  to  represent  the 
three  points  of  the  trident.  In  face  of  the  motionless 
man,  the  cow,  seized  with  terror,  recoils,  pawing  up  the 
earth,  with  lowered  head  and  threatening  horns;  and,  as 
soon  as  she  thinks  she  is  well  out  of  the  man's  reach,  she 
turns  and  flies. 

A  common  performance  of  the  drover,  when  he  is  in 
good  spirits,  is  this  :  pursuing  the  bull,  he  passes  beyond 
him  some  twenty  or  thirty  yards,  then  stops  short  and 
leaps  down  from  his  horse  ;  the  bull,  taken  by  surprise, 
rushes  at  the  man,  who  has  one  knee  on  the  ground. 
The  bull  comes  rushing  on  with  lowered  horns.  Three 
sharp  hand-claps  :  the  bull  has  stopped !  His  hot  breath 
strikes  the  face  of  his  subduer,  who  has  already  seized 
him  with  both  hands  by  the  horns.     The  man,  springing 


26  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

instantly  to  his  feet,  struggles  to  throw  the  beast  over  to 
the  right.  The  bull,  resisting,  throws  himself  in  the 
opposite  direction.  The  two  forces  neutralize  each 
other  for  an  instant,  almost  equal,  the  result  uncertain  ; 
then  the  man  suddenly  yields,  and  the  beast,  unex- 
pectedly impelled  in  the  direction  of  his  own  efforts, 
falls  upon  his  side.  Skill  is  seconded  by  the  creature's 
whole  strength  in  its  struggle  for  victory. 

This  is  the  method  adopted  at  the  ferrades,  or  brand- 
ings, where  the  sport  consists  in  branding  the  young 
animals  with  a  red-hot  iron. 

For  a  drover,  to  seize  a  colt  by  the  nose,  and  mount 
him  bareback ;  to  roll  with  his  steed  at  the  bottom  of  a 
ditch  and  emerge  firmly  seated  in  the  saddle ;  to  subdue 
stallions  by  fatigue,  and,  if  dismounted  and  wounded  by 
a  kick,  to  dress  the  wound  as  tranquilly  as  the  cork-cutter 
dresses  the  scratch  made  by  his  knife, — all  this  is  mere 
child's-play. 

A  drover,  caught  between  two  horns — luckily  well 
separated — and  tossed  into  the  air,  has  but  one  thought 
when  he  picks  himself  up  after  falling  to  the  ground — a 
thought  so  surprising  as  not  to  be  ridiculous :  to  rear- 
range his  breeches  and  readjust  his  belt. 

A  unique  race  it  is,  rough  and  brutal,  which  would  be 
esteemed  heroic,  like  the  Corsican  race,  if  it  had  great 
affairs  in  which  to  display  its  great  qualities. 


IV 


THE    SEDEN 

Jacques  Renaud,  Livette's  betrothed,  was,  as  we  have 
said,  one  of  the  most  fearless  drovers  in  Camargue. 

He  could  pursue  and  catch  and  subdue  a  wild  horse, 
attack  a  rebellious  bull  and  master  it,  as  no  other  could ; 
he  was  the  king  of  the  moor. 

For  occasions  of  public  rejoicing,  at  Nimes  or  Aries, 
he  was  always  sent  for  when  they  desired  a  really  fine 
performance  in  the  arena.  And  he  had  so  often  called 
forth  the  exclamation,  in  all  the  arenas  throughout 
Provence  :  ''  Oh  !  that  fellow  is  the  king  of  them  all !" 
that  the  name  had  clung  to  him.  And  he  himself  had 
given  to  his  finest  stallion  the  name  of  "Prince." 

Whatever  feats  of  address  and  strength  were  per- 
formed by  others,  he  performed  better  than  they. 

And  with  it  all  he  was  a  handsome  fellow,  not  too  tall 
or  too  short,  with  a  well-shaped  head,  clear,  dark  com- 
plexion, short,  thick,  matted  black  hair,  a  well-defined 
moustache  of  the  same  devil's  black  as  the  hair,  and 

cheeks  and  chin  always  closely  shaven,  for  this  savage 

27 


28  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

always  carried  in  the  leather  saddle-bags  hanging  at  the 
bow  of  his  saddle  a  razor-edged  knife,  a  stone  to  sharpen 
it  upon,  and  a  little  round  mirror  in  a  sheep-skin  case. 

And  when,  with  his  stout  and  shapely  legs  encased  in 
heavy  boots,  his  feet  in  the  closed  stirrups,  his  long 
spear  resting  on  his  boot,  he  sat  erect  and  motionless  in 
his  high-backed  saddle,  his  size  heightened  by  the  re- 
fraction of  the  desert,  amid  his  little  tribe  of  mares  and 
wild  bulls,  wearing  upon  his  head  the  round  narrow- 
brimmed  hat  that  made  for  him  a  crown  of  gleaming 
golden  straw,  indeed  the  drover  did  resemble  the  king 
of  some  outlandish  race  ! 

And  yet  it  was  not  on  the  day  of  a  fcrrade,  nor  be- 
cause of  his  great  deeds  as  tamer  of  wild  beasts,  that 
the  gentle,  fair-haired  girl  had  come  to  love  him. 

In  the  first  place,  she  was  accustomed  to  seeing  many 
of  these  drovers ;  and  then,  being  the  daughter  of  a  rich 
intendant,  she  might  have  been  inclined  rather  to  look 
down  upon  them  a  little,  as  mere  herdsmen.  Indeed 
her  father  and  grandmother  did  not  readily  agree  to 
give  her  hand  to  Renaud,  who  was  poor  and  had  no 
kindred;  but  Livette  was  an  only  child,  and  had  wept 
and  prayed  so  hard,  the  darling,  that  at  last  they  had 
said  yes. 

And  this  is  how  it  came  to  pass  that  the  drover 
Renaud,  who  was  used  to  being  run  after  by  pretty 
girls,  had  taken  Livette's  trembling  httle  heart  in  his 
great  hand. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  29 

It  was  one  morning  when  he  was  making  a  new  seden 
for  his  horse,  who  had  lost  his  the  night  before,  while 
bathing  in  the  Rhone. 

The  sede7i,  as  it  is  called  in  Camargue,  is  a  halter, 
but  a  halter  made  of  mares'  hair  braided,  it  being  cus- 
tomary always  to  allow  the  manes  and  tails  of  stallions 
to  grow  as  long  as  they  will,  as  a  mark  of  strength  and 
pride.  The  seden  is  generally  black  and  white.  It  is, 
in  a  word,  a  long  rope,  which  hangs  in  a  coil  about  the 
horse's  neck,  and  may  serve,  as  occasion  arises,  many 
purposes,  being  generally  used  as  a  halter,  sometimes  as 
a  lasso. 

But  the  sedeti,  being  a  thing  essentially  Camarguese, 
should  never  go  from  the  province.  Many  a  one  does 
so,  no  doubt,  but  it  is  on  account  of  the  contemptible 
greed  of  this  or  that  drover,  who  snaps  his  fingers  at  the 
old  customs  that  were  good  enough  for  his  ancestors. 

Renaud,  then,  was  making  a  seden.  It  was  in  front 
of  one  of  the  farm-houses  appertaining  to  the  Chateau 
d' Avignon,  a  long,  low  structure,  rather  a  drover's 
cottage  than  a  farm-house,  lost  in  the  moor,  and  so 
squat  that  it  had  the  appearance  of  not  wanting  to  be 
seen,  like  an  animal  burrowing  in  the  ground. 

It  was  October.  The  larks  were  singing  merrily. 
Mounted  upon  Blanquet  (or  Blanchet),  her  favorite 
horse,  the  little  one,  in  obedience  to  her  father's 
orders,  was  out  in  search  of  Renaud,  and  she  spied  him 
at  a  distance,  walking  backward,  playing  the  rope-maker. 


30 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE 


From  a  piece  of  canvas  tied  around  his  waist  and  swell- 
ing out  in  front  of  him,  like  an  apron  turned  up  to 
make  a  great  pocket,  he  was  taking  little  bunches  of 
white  and  black  hair  alternately,  braiding  them  together 
and  twisting  them  into  a  rope,  which  grew  visibly 
longer.  A  child  was  turning  the  thick  wooden  wheel 
upon  which  the  scden,  already  of  considerable  length, 
was  wound ;  and  Renaud — keeping  time  to  the  wheel, 
which  struck  a  dull  blow  against  something  or  other  at 
every  revolution — was  singing  a  ballad  which  floated  to 
Livette's  ears  on  the  gentle  breeze  that  was  blowing,  like 
a  sweet,  strong  call  from  the  love  of  which  she  as  yet 
knew  nothing. 

"  N'use  pas  sur  les  routes 
Tes  souliers ; 
Descends  plutot  le  Rhone 
En  bateau. 

"  Laisse  Lyon,  Valence, 
De  cote  ; 
Salue-les  de  la  tete 
Sous  les  ponts." 

He  had  a  fine  voice,  smooth  and  clear,  powerful  with- 
out effort,  and  of  wide  range. 

"  Avignon  est  la  reine 

Passe  encor ; 
Tu  ne  verras  qu'en  Aries 
Tes  amours 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  31 

"  La  plaine  est  belle  et  grande, 

Compagnon 

Prends  tes  amours  en  croupe, 
En  avant !  "  ^ 

Livette  had  stopped  her  horse,  to  hear  better.  It  was 
in  the  morning.  In  the  light  there  was  the  reflection 
that  tells  that  the  day  is  young,  that  makes  hope  dance 
in  hearts  of  sixteen,  and  sows  hope  anew  even  in  the 
hearts  of  the  old. 

A  vague  hope  that  is  naught  but  the  desire  to  love  ; 
but  its  loss,  bitterer  than  death,  makes  the  thought  of 
death  a  consolation  ! 


"  Prends  tes  amours  en  croupe- 
En  avant ! ' ' 


the  singer  repeated,  and  the  little  one  involuntarily  urged 
her  horse  toward  the  song  that  called  to  her  to  come. 

"Aha!"  said  Renaud,  pausing  in  his  work,  "aha! 
young  lady  !  you  are  astir  early  ! — with  a  white  horse 
that  will  soon  be  all  red  !  " 

"Yes,"  she  said,  laughing,  "  with  gnats  and  gadflies; 
there  are  swarms  of  them  !  too  many,  by  my  faith  in 
God!  " 

"You  are  covered  with  them,  young  lady,  as  a  bit 
of  honey  is  covered  with  bees,  or  a  tuft  of  flowering 
genesta  !      But  what  brings  you  here?" 

"I  come  from  my  father.  You  must  come  with  me 
at  once." 


22  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

"But  comrade  Rampal  borrowed  my  horse  just  now 
to  go  to  Saintes.     They  went  off  one  upon  the  other." 

"Take  mine,  then,"  said  Livette. 

"  And  what  will  you  do,  young  lady?  " 

She  was  ashamed  of  her  thoughtlessness,  and  blushed 
scarlet, 

"I?"  said  she,  and  the  words  of  the  ballad  rang  in 
her  heart : 

"  Prends  tes  amours  en  croupe, 
En  avant !  " 

"Unless,"  said  he,  laughing  in  his  turn,  "you  care 
to  take  me  en  croupe  ?  ' ' 

"People  would  never  stop  talking  about  it  all  over 
our  Camargue,"  said  she,  with  laughter  in  her  voice.  "A 
drover  like  you,  the  terror  of  riders,  <?«  croupe  like  a  girl  ? 
No,  no  ;  no  false  shame,  that  is  my  place.  We  will  take 
off  my  saddle,  and  you  can  bring  it  to  me  to-morrow." 

"Very  luckily,"  said  Renaud,  "Rampal  didn't  take 
mine,  which  I  never  lend." 

Livette  jumped  do\vn  from  her  horse  ;  and  at  the 
breeze  made  by  her  skirt  a  cloud  of  great  flies  and 
enormous  mosquitoes  rose  and  flew  buzzing  about  her. 
Blanchet's  snow-white  rump  looked  as  if  it  were  covered 
with  a  net  of  purple  silk,  there  was  such  a  labyrinth  of 
little  streams  of  blood  crossing  and  recrossing  one 
another.  Another  instant,  and  gadflies  and  mosquitoes 
settled  down  again  upon  the  bleeding  surface  and  dotted 


ari)aptcr  Ml[ 


And  7vhen,  with  his  stout  and  shapely  legs  encased  in 
heavy  boots,  his  feet  in  the  closed  stirrnps,  his  long  spear 
resting  on  his  boot,  he  sat  erect  and  motionless  in  his 
high-backed  saddle,  *  %  *  the  drover  did  resemble 
the  king  of  some  outlandish  race  I 


-.M.'.i-  tJL  r. 

now 


Siip  was  ssnes  ,  and  blushed 

xnd  tb  f  ti'     ballad  rang  in 


her 


f  M  -tatqfBcfl!) 


n  cr. 


(< 


t  irn,  "  you  care 


ibout  it  ajl  over 
he 


her  voice.    "  A 


^'^<:        cf  'U/j^n^e  a  girl  ? 

•i\^wii*sN5>(fe-*'i«'  •'^^■^^'^'^"'Mll  take 

off  my  N-v^\,n-  iV«\^\\5A'\4W!tsw^t')\3>M^n5t^iftibVro\v.'' 

"Ve.  '        mpal  didn't  take 

'  rse  ;   and  at   the 

bre.                                                       '1  *    great   flies   and 

;n  luj.  about  her. 

!  ~         were  covered 

11  h  1  labyrinth  of 

. I      i)ssing   one 

anothei.  ani!  moscjuitoes 

„  iiSf!  (1f>uii  I  i            dotted 


fv 


liMvCi 


% 


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mm 


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x^ 


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'    V       ^A  ■''IIP'''-     ' 


I'n'^Hil 


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^> 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  ^-^ 

it  with  a   myriad  of  black  spots;   but  Blanchet,  albeit 
somewhat  cross,   was  used   to  that  annoyance. 

Livette  fastened  him  to  one  of  the  rings  in  the 
wall,  and  sat  down  upon  the  stone  bench,  waiting  until 
Renaud  had  finished   his  seden. 

The  wheel  turned  and  turned,  striking  its  dull  blow 
with  perfect  regularity  at  every  turn. 

''That  was  a  pretty  song,  Renaud,"  said  Livette 
suddenly,  answering  her  thoughts  without  intention; 
"that  was  a  pretty  song  you  were  singing  just  now." 

"I  learned  it,"  said  Renaud,  "from  a  boatman,  a 
friend  of  my  father,  with  whom  I  went  up  the  Rhone 
as  far  as  Lyon — and  then  came  down  again " 

"And  is  all  that  country  very  beautiful  up  there?" 
said  she. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "  it  is  beautiful." 

And  he  said  nothing  more. 

"You  don't  look  as  if  you  meant  what  you  say,  Re- 
naud. Pray,  didn't  you  like  the  city  of  Lyon  we  hear 
so  much  about?" 

There  was  a  long  silence,  broken  only  by  the  monoto- 
nous rhythm  of  the  wheel. 

"No  sun  !  "  said  Renaud  abruptly.  "It's  a  city  in 
a  cold  cloud  ! — The  Rhone  isn't  fine  till  you  come  down 
again,"  he  added. 

Livette  looked  at  him,  and  her  wide-open  eyes  seemed 
to  say  : 

"Why  is  that?" 


34  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

He  answered  her  look. 

"When  one  of  us  goes  up  yonder,  young  lady,  you 
understand,  he  leaves  everything  to  go  nowhere,  and 
when  he  gets  there,  all  he  asks  is  to  start  back  again  !  — 
When  he  comes  from  there  here,  on  the  contrary,  he 
leaves  nothing  at  all,  and  knows  that,  at  the  end  of  the 
journey,  he  will  have  arrived  somewhere !  You  see, 
young  lady,  the  best  horse  must,  of  necessity,  stop  at 
the  sea — and  that  is  the  only  place  where  I  am  willing 
to  consent  to  go  no  farther.  Where  the  sea  is  not,  you 
have  all  the  rest  of  the  journey  still  to  do. — Enough,  my 
boy  !  "  he  added,  raising  his  voice. 

The  wheel  stopped.  He  examined  the  seden.  The 
rope,  of  black  and  white  strands  in  regular  alternation, 
was  finished. 

"That's  a  good  piece  of  work,"  said  he;  "look, 
young  lady." 

He  leaned  over,  almost  against  her,  to  look  at  a  point 
in  the  rope  which  seemed  to  him  defective ;  he  leaned 
over,  and  a  short  black  curl  touched  lightly  the  disor- 
dered, almost  invisible,  locks  that  formed  a  sort  of  fleecy 
golden  cloud  over  Livette's  forehead.  And  thereupon 
it  seemed  to  both  of  them — young  as  they  were  ! — that 
their  hair  blazed  up  and  shrivelled  softly,  like  the  fine 
grass  that  takes  fire  in  summer,  under  the  hot  sun.  Ah  ! 
holy  youth  ! 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  Renaud  thought  of  the  girl. 
Hitherto  he  had  seen  in  Livette  only  the  "young  lady." 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  35 

They  remained  bending  forward,  she  over  the  rope  which 
she  seemed  to  be  examining  attentively,  he  over  Li- 
vette's  hair.  Livette  wore  her  "morning  head-dress," 
consisting  of  a  httle  white  handkerchief  which  covered 
the  chignon,  and  was  tied  in  such  fashion  that  the  two 
ends  stood  up  like  little  hollow,  pointed  ears  on  top 
of  her  head.  When  they  are  in  full-dress,  the  women 
of  Camargue  surround  the  high  chignon,  covered  by  a 
fine  white  linen  cap,  with  a  broad  velvet  ribbon,  almost 
always  black,  whose  long,  unequal  ends  fall  behind  the 
head,  a  little  at  one  side. 

Renaud,  then,  was  looking  at  Livette's  clear  flaxen 
hair, — in  which  there  was,  here  and  there,  a  lock  of  a 
darker  golden  hue, — symmetrically  massed  on  top  of 
her  head,  advancing  in  little  waves  toward  her  temples, 
coquettishly  arranged,  but  so  short  and  fluffy  that  some 
few  locks  escaped,  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  enough 
to  form  the  faint  golden  mist  above  her  head. 

He  looked  at  the  pretty,  round  neck,  whence  the  fair 
hair  seemed  to  spring,  like  a  vigorous  plant,  so  slender 
and  so  fine  !  so  long,  and  full  of  life  !  And  the  tempta- 
tion to  press  his  lips  upon  it  drew  him  on,  as,  after  a 
long  day's  journey  among  dry,  stony  hills,  the  sight 
of  the  water  draws  on  the  horses  of  Camargue,  accus- 
tomed to  moist  pasturage. 

She  felt  that  she  was  being  stared  at  too  long. 

"Let  us  go!"  she  said,  suddenly.  "My  father's 
orders  were  that  you  should  come  as  soon  as  possible." 


36  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Renaud  felt  as  if  he  were  waking  from  a  long  sleep 
and  from  a  dream.  He  jumped  to  his  feet.  Without 
a  word,  he  went  to  Blanchet,  took  off  the  woman's  sad- 
dle and  carried  it  into  the  house,  placed  his  own  upon 
the  beast,  which  the  mosquitoes  had  at  last  made  restive, 
and  leaped  upon  his  back. 

Livette,  assisted  by  the  drover's  strong  hand,  leaped 
to  the  croup  behind  him  with  one  spring ;  highly  amused 
she  was  as  she  threw  one  arm  around  Renaud's  waist. 
It  is  the  fashion  among  the  Camarguese  young  women, 
all  of  whom,  on  fete-days,  ride  to  the  plains  of  Meyran, 
or  to  Saintes-Maries,  "fitted"  to  the  horses  of  their 
promised  husbands. 

The  drover  started  Blanchet  off  at  a  gallop,  gave  him 
his  head,  and  let  him  take  his  own  course.  Blanchet 
left  the  travelled  road,  headed  straight  for  the  chateau 
across  the  moor,  through  the  sand  thickly  sown  with 
stiff,  rounded  clumps  of  saltwort  at  irregular  inter- 
vals. The  good  horse  fiew  over  these  clumps,  scarcely 
touching  the  toi)S,  landing  always  between  them  in 
the  damp  sand,  from  which,  however,  by  force  of 
long  habit,  he  withdrew  his  feet  without  effort,  calcu- 
lating in  advance  the  distance  between  the  obstacles, 
galloping  freely  and  evenly,  changing  feet  as  he  chose, 
making  sport  of  his  heavy  burden,  happy  at  being  left 
to  himself 

And  Livette  must  needs  hold  tight  to  the  drover's 
waist ;  he  was  a  lithe,  supple  fellow,  and  swayed  with 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE    -  37 

the  horse.  And  the  swift  motion,  the  free  air,  youth 
and  love,  all  combined  to  intoxicate  the  two  young 
people;  and  without  meaning  it,  without  thinking  of  it, 
the  horseman  repeated  his  song  of  a  few  moments  before, 
between  his  teeth,  but  loud  enough  to  be  overheard  by 

the  girl : 

"  Prends  tes  amours  en  croupe  ! 
En  avant ! ' ' 

And  it  seemed  to  them  as  if  the  whole  horizon  were 
theirs. 

When  they  dismounted,  in  front  of  the  farm-house  of 
the  chateau,  they  had  not  spoken  a  word,  but  they  had 
exchanged  in  silence  the  subtlest  and  strongest  part  of 
themselves. 

From  that  day,  Renaud,  being  sincerely  in  love,  ex- 
erted himself  to  please.  He  was  careful  about  his  dress, 
paid  more  attention  to  the  adjustment  of  his  neck- 
erchief, shaved  more  closely,  and  had  not  a  single 
glance  to  spare  for  the  other  girls,  even  the  prettiest  of 
them. 

At  last,  he  said  to  Livette  one  day : 

"Your  father  will  never  be  willing  !  " 

Those  were  his  first  words  of  love. 

''  If  I  am  willing,  ray  father  will  be.  And  when  my 
father  is  willing,  grandmother  always  is  !  " 

"The  good  God  grant  it !  "  replied  Jacques. 

And  it  had  happened  as  she  said.  For  almost  five 
months  now  they  had  been  betrothed. 


38  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

The  fascinating  thing  about  Livette  was  that  she  was 
just  the  opposite  of  Renaud,  so  slender  and  delicate,  so 
fair  and  such  a  child, — and,  furthermore,  that  she  loved 
him  with  all  her  might,  the  sweetheart, — there  was  no 
mistake  about  that. 


THE    LOVERS 

Livette  was  so  fresh  and  sweet  that  people  often  re- 
peated, in  speaking  of  her,  the  Provencal  expression : 
' '  You  could  drink  her  in  a  glass  of  water  !  ' ' 

In  loving  Livette,  Renaud  experienced  the  pleasant 
feeling,  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  strong  men,  of  having 
some  one  to  protect,  a  little  wife,  who  was  no  more  than 
a  child.  Because  of  Livette's  fragility  and  slender 
stature,  the  rough  drover,  made  for  violent  passions, 
the  horseman  of  the  Camargue  desert,  the  hard-fisted 
herdsman,  the  subduer  of  mares  and  bulls,  felt  the  love 
that  is  based  upon  sweet  compassion,  upon  respect  for 
charming  weakness;  in  a  word,  he  learned  the  secret 
of  true  tenderness  which  he  could  not  have  felt,  per- 
haps, for  one  of  his  own  class. 

It  would  never  have  occurred  to  him  to  tell  her  any 
of  the  vulgar  jests  with  a  double  meaning,  with  which 
he  regaled  the  more  robust  fair  ones  of  his  acquaint- 
ance on  branding-days  or  on   race-days.     To  do  that 

39 


40  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

would  have  seemed  to  him  to  be  a  villainous  misuse  of 
his  power  and  his  experience  as  a  man.  Still  less  did 
Livette  cause  him  to  feel  the  fierce  desire,  well  known 
to  him,  which  sometimes,  with  other  girls,  went  to  his 
brain  like  a  rush  of  blood, — the  desire  to  touch  with 
his  hands,  to  take  in  his  arms,  to  throw  down  into 
the  ditch,  laughing  at  the  gentle  resistance,  at  the  con- 
sent which  repels  a  little,  at  the  equal  struggle  between 
the  youth  and  the  maiden,  who  have,  in  reality,  a 
tacit  understanding  to  be  robber  and  robbed.  No :  in 
Livette's  presence,  Renaud  felt  that  he  was  a  new  man. 
There  came  to  him,  in  regard  to  the  little  damsel 
with  the  golden  hair,  a  tranquillity  of  heart  that  sur- 
prised him  greatly.  Love  has  a  thousand  forms.  That 
which  Renaud  felt  for  Livette  was  a  soothing  emo- 
tion. He  "wished  her  well."  That  was  what  he  kept 
repeating  to  himself  as  he  thought  of  her.  And,  as  he 
desired  all  the  others  something  after  the  fashion  of  the 
bulls  of  his  manade,  in  the  season  when  the  germs  are 
at  work,  it  so  happened  that  he  seemed  not  to  desire  the 
only  woman  he  really  loved. 

There  was  a  sweet  fascination  in  the  thought,  which 
he  relished  like  a  draught  of  pure  water  after  a  long 
day's  walk  through  the  dust  in  the  hot  sun.  He  re- 
joiced inwardly  in  his  love  as  in  a  halt  for  rest  in  the 
shade  of  a  great  tree,  beside  a  clear,  cool  spring,  while 
the  birds  sang  their  greeting  to  the  morning.  Some- 
times,  in   the   blazing  heat   of   midday,    when   he  was 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  41 

riding  across  the  mirror-like  waste  of  sand  and  salt  and 
water,  his  horse  plodding  wearily  along  with  hanging 
head,  the  thought  of  Livette  would  steal  softly  into  his 
mind,  and  it  would  seem  as  if  a  cool  breeze  were  blow- 
ing on  his  forehead,  washing  away,  in  a  sense,  the  dust 
and  fatigue,  like  a  bath.  He  would  feel  refreshed,  and 
a  smile  would  come  unbidden  to  his  lips.  His  whole 
being  would  thrill  with  pleasure,  and,  with  renewed 
life,  he  would  imperceptibly,  with  hand  and  knee  alike, 
order  his  horse  to  raise  his  head.  And  the  lover's  steed 
would  raise  his  head  without  further  bidding,  and  snort 
and  toss  his  mane,  scatter,  with  a  sudden  lash  of  his 
tail,  the  gadflies  that  were  streaking  his  sides  with  blood, 
and,  with  quickened  step,  reach  the  shelter  of  the  haw- 
thorns and  the  poplars  on  the  Rhone  bank — whose 
leaves  forever  quiver  and  rustle  like  the  water,  like  the 
heart  of  man,  like  everything  that  lives  and  hopes  and 
suffers  and  then  dies  ! 

Not  only  by  her  grace  and  weakness  did  she  win  his 
heart,  strong  and  rough  as  he  was  ;  but  also  by  the  care 
expended  on  her  dress,  by  the  splendor  of  her  surround- 
ings, she,  the  wealthy  farmer's  daughter,  enchanted 
him,  the  poor  drover ;  and  she  seemed  to  him  a  strange, 
unfamiliar  creature  from  another  world.  And  so  she 
was  in  fact.  Of  a  different  quality,  he  said  to  himself: 
a  being  outside  his  sphere,  far,  far  above  it. 

That  he  might  one  day  unloose  the  latchets  of  her 
little  shoes  had  not  occurred  to  him,  and,  lo  !   she  was 


42  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

his !  Livette,  the  daughter  of  the  intendant  of  the 
Chateau  d'Avignon  !  she  was  his  fiancee,  his  betrothed, 
his  future  wife  ! 

He  seemed  to  himself  the  heir  to  a  throne.  In  face 
of  the  mere  thought  of  his  future,  he  felt  something 
like  the  embarrassment  a  beggar  feels  on  the  threshold 
of  a  palace,  before  the  carpets  over  which  he  must  pass 
to  enter,  with  shoes  heavy  with  mud. 

She  had  in  his  eyes  something  of  the  sanctity  of  the 
blessed  Madonna,  carved  from  wood,  painted  blue  and 
gold,  and  overladen  with  pearls  and  flowers,  that  he  used 
to  see  when  a  child  in  the  church  of  Saint-Trophime  at 
Aries. 

So  it  was  that  he  felt  a  secret  amazement  at  finding 
himself  beloved. 

It  did  not  seem  to  him  that  it  could  really  be  true ; 
and  as  he  must  needs  be  convinced  of  the  fact  every 
time  he  spoke  to  her,  his  love  constantly  appealed  to 
him  with  all  the  force  of  novelty. 

He  was  a  little  embarrassed,  too,  in  her  presence,  could 
not  find  his  words,  contented  himself  with  smiling  at 
her,  with  yielding  submission  to  her  like  a  child,  with 
running  to  fetch  this  or  that  for  her,  divining  her  desires 
from  her  glance ;  mistaking  now  and  then,  but  rarely ; 
feeling  the  same  pleasure  in  being  the  maiden's  footman 
that  is  felt  by  the  misshapen  court  dwarf  in  love  with 
the  king's  fair  daughter. 

His  sobriquet  of  The  King  seemed  to  him  a  mockery 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  43 

beside  her.  She  embarrassed  him ;  in  her  presence  he 
was  meek  and  lowly. 

He  was  surprised,  indignant  even,  in  his  heart,  at  the 
familiar  tone  assumed  by  others  with  Livette.  It  seemed 
strange  to  him  that  her  companions  should  treat  her  as 
an  equal ;  that  her  father  and  her  grandmother  should 
not  have  the  same  respect  and  consideration  for  his 
fiancee  that  he  himself  had. 

Frequently,  when  the  grandmother  cried  to  Livette : 
"  Do  this  or  that;  run  !  be  quick  !  "he  would  be  angry, 
and  would  long  to  say  to  her :  "  Why  do  you  order  her 
about?  She  was  not  made  to  obey!  You're  a  bad 
grandmother  !  Don't  you  see  that  she  is  too  delicate 
and  pretty  for  such  tasks  ?  ' ' 

But  this  was  a  feeling  kept  hidden  in  his  heart ;  he 
would  not  have  dared  to  avow  it,  for  women  are  made, 
according  to  our  ancestors,  to  be  the  slaves  of  man.  So 
he  said  no  word  of  what  he  felt.  He  even  deemed  him- 
self a  little  ridiculous  to  feel  it.  He  contented  himself 
by  doing  in  a  twinkling,  in  Livette's  stead,  the  thing 
she  was  bidden  to  do,  if  it  was  something  within  his 
power. 

Ah  !  but  if  any  man  had  ventured  to  indulge  in  any 
ill-sounding  pleasantry  with  Livette,  to  take  any  liberty 
with  her. — oh  !  then,  be  sure  that  he  would  without  re- 
flection have  felled  him  on  the  spot  with  his  stout  fist ! 

Why,  if  any  one,  man  or  woman,  in  the  crowd  on 
a  fete-day,   happened  to  make  a  coarse   remark  in  her 


44  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

hearing, — one  of  the  sort  that  he  himself  knew  how  to 
make  with  great  effect  upon  occasion, — he  would  be 
overcome  with  rage  against  that  person ;  it  seemed  to 
him  that  every  one  should  take  notice  of  Livette's  pres- 
ence, should  feel  that  she  was  near,  and  understand 
that,  before  her,  they  should  show  some  self-respect. 

All  this  he  would  have  been  incapable  of  explaining, 
but  he  felt  it  all,  confusedly  and  vaguely,  in  his  heart. 

Livette,  for  her  part,  was  keenly  conscious  of  the 
drover's  adoration.  She  revelled  in  it,  without  unduly 
seeming  to  do  so.  She  saw  very  plainly  that  she  had, 
without  effort,  tamed  a  wild  beast.  She  laughed  some- 
times, as  she  looked  at  him — a  frank,  ringing  laugh,  in 
which  there  was,  however,  a  touch  of  the  triumph  of 
the  mysterious  feminine  witchery,  the  marvellous  inven- 
tion of  nature,  which  decrees  that  the  strong  man  shall 
be  vanquished,  rolled  in  the  dust,  at  the  pleasure  of 
fascinating  weakness.  This  miracle,  performed  by  life, 
by  nature,  by  love,  she  believed  to  be  her  own  work, — 
hers,  Livette's, — and  the  little  woman  was  a  bit  swollen 
with  pride  !  More  than  frequently  she  would  say  to  her- 
self: ''What  have  I  done?  I  don't  deserve  this  good 
fortune;  no,  indeed,  I  don't  deserve  it!  "  She  saw  very 
clearly  that,  in  his  eyes,  she  was  a  being  apart :  that  he 
did  not  treat  her  by  any  means  as  everybody  else  did : 
and,  greatly  astonished  as  she  was,  she  was  proud  of  it. 

Thereupon,  wondering  in  her  sincere  heart  what  she 
had  "more"    or  better  than  another,  and  finding  no 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  45 

answer  to  the  question,  it  came  about  that  she  deemed 
her  lover  a  little,  just  a  very  little,  stupid  to  be  so  domi- 
nated by  her,  and  he  so  strong  !  And  then  she  would 
prettily  make  fun  of  him  and  laugh  aloud  at  him,  saying : 

"Ah  !  great  booby  !  " 

So  it  was  that  the  whole  essence  of  Woman,  profound, 
seductive,  existed  in  this  simple,  obscure  peasant-girl, 
who  could  have  told  nothing  as  to  her  own  character. 

In  time,  too,  she  came  to  look  upon  herself  as  pretty, 
beautiful,  the  prettiest,  the  loveliest  of  all,  and  to  admire 
her  own  charms.  When  such  thoughts  came  to  her,  and 
if  the  truth  must  be  known,  none  were  more  frequent, — 
ah  !  then  she  felt  her  pride  !  And  she  no  longer  deemed 
her  lover  stupid  in  the  least  degree ;  on  the  contrary, 
he  seemed  to  her  very  fortunate,  too  fortunate  !  and 
then  it  was  he  who  hardly  deserved  her  !  At  such  times, 
she  received  his  attentions,  his  humility,  with  the  air  of 
a  princess  accustomed  to  homage. 

Then,  too,  she  would  wonder  why  all  the  others  did 
not  do  for  her  what  he  did  ?  And,  thereupon,  she  would 
conceive  a  sort  of  gratitude  for  him.  Such  a  constant 
revolution  in  our  hearts  of  impressions,  often  irrecon- 
cilable and  ever  changing,  around  a  fixed  idea,  is  love. — 
Yes,  in  very  truth  he  deserved  to  be  loved  simply  because 
he  had  known  enough  to  appreciate  her  !  to  choose  her  ! 
The  other  young  men  were  the  fools,  one  and  all ! 

Warm  was  his  welcome  if  he  arrived  at  the  farm 
when  that  thought  was  in  her  mind.     She  would  give 


46  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

the  little  cry  of  a  happy  bird,  and  run  to  meet  her 
lover. 

"  Good-morning,  Monsieur  Jacques  !  " 

"Good-morning,  Demoiselle  Livette  !  " 

They  would  shake  hands. 

"  Will  you  come  to  the  Rhone?  " 

"With  all  my  heart!  " 

And  often  they  would  go  and  sit  together  beside  the 
Rhone,  beneath  the  great  hawthorn — a  tree  more  than 
a  hundred  years  old  and  known  to  everybody.  The 
hawthorn,  like  the  aspen  and  the  birch,  is  a  familiar 
Camarguese  tree. 

Sometimes,  on  the  way,  she  would  hold  out  to  him 
a  flexible  green  twig,  broken  from  a  poplar  by  the  road- 
side, and  they  would  walk  along,  united  and  kept  apart 
at  the  same  time  by  the  short  branch,  followed  by  a 
swarm  of  gnats  with  their  tiny  iris-hued  wings. 

She  was  very  fond  of  this  sport  of  making  him  walk 
thus,  not  too  near,  not  too  far  away,  holding  him  with- 
out touching  him,  drawing  him  nearer  or  keej)ing  him 
at  a  distance,  as  her  fancy  dictated,  making  of  the  leafy 
wand  a  whip  if  he  showed  signs  of  rebellion. 

She  had  the  feeling  that  thus  she  was  indeed  his  mis- 
tress, remembering  how  she  used  sometimes  to  make  her 
horse  Blanchet  follow  her  docilely  in  the  same  way  by 
holding  out  to  him  a  small  wisp  of  flowering  oatsj — 
how  she  had  sometimes,  by  the  same  means,  led  back 
behind    her,  (juiet   as   an  ox,   a  vicious   bull    that    had 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  47 

escaped,  wounded,  from  the  arena,  and  that  she  had 
encountered  by  the  roadside,  in  a  thicket  of  thorn- 
broom,  bathing  his  foaming  tongue  in  the  streams  of 
blood  that  were  flowing  from  his  nostrils. 

Arrived  at  the  bank  of  the  Rhone,  beneath  the  great 
hawthorn  with  the  gnarled  black  trunk  and  smooth  white 
branches,  that  stretches  its  abundant  rustling  foliage  well 
out  over  the  stream,  the  lovers  would  sit  down,  side  by 
side,  upon  the  roots  protruding  from  the  ground  or  upon 
a  bundle  of  cut  reeds. 

And  they  would  watch  the  water  flow.  The  earthy, 
yellowish  water,  with  its  whirling  masses  of  foam,  rush- 
ing toward  the  sea. 

They  would  sit  and  gaze. 

They  would  not  speak.  They  would  live  on  in  silence, 
listening  to  the  plashing  of  the  Rhone,  the  tiny  wavelets 
that  came  rippling  in  obliquely  to  the  bank,  to  loiter 
there  among  the  feet  of  countless  reeds  and  poplars, 
while  the  main  current  in  the  centre  of  the  stream  flowed 
swiftly,  hurriedly  along,  as  if  in  haste  to  reach  the  sea, 
and  there  be  swallowed  up. — There  they  would  sit  and 
dream,  not  speaking. 

They  felt  that  they  were  living  the  same  life  as  every- 
thing about  them.  From  time  to  time,  a  kingfisher, 
.sky-blue  and  reddish-brown,  would  pass  before  them, 
light  on  a  low  branch,  gazing  sidewise  at  the  water  with 
his  beak  ready  to  strike,  then,  suddenly,  fly  off  across 
the  Rhone.     And,  with  the  sky-blue  bird,  their  thoughts 


48  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

would  cross  the  river,  there  to  light  again  upon  a 
branch,  bent  like  a  bow,  whose  slender  point  trailed  in 
the  water,  vibrating  in  the  current,  and  surrounded  with 
a  mass  of  foam,  dead  leaves,  and  twigs.  And  suddenly 
the  bird,  like  a  sorcerer,  had  disappeared. 

"  How  pretty  !  "  Livette  would  sometimes  say. 

And  that  was  all. 

He  would  make  no  reply.  He  knew  not  what  to  say 
to  her.  He  was  too  happy.  He  would  not  call  the 
king  his  cousin  ! 

In  the  evening  twilight,  many  little  rabbits,  young 
in  that  month  of  May,  would  run  out  from  the  park, 
through  the  wild  hedges,  almost  invisible  in  their  gray 
coats,  and  play  in  the  shadow  at  the  foot  of  the  bushes, 
their  presence  betrayed  by  the  rustling  of  a  tuft  of 
grass  or  a  low-hanging,  horizontal  branch  that  barred 
their  path. 

To  heighten  the  enjoyment  of  the  lovers,  there  was  the 
nightingale's  song,  at  the  rising  of  the  moon.  Listen 
to  it :  'tis  always  lovely  in  the  darkness,  is  the  nightin- 
gale's song.  It  begins  with  three  distinct,  long-drawn- 
out  cries ;  you  would  say  it  was  a  signal,  a  preconcerted 
call ;  it  enjoins  attention.  Then  the  modulations  hesi- 
tatingly arise.  You  would  say  that  it  is  timid,  that  it 
fears  its  prayer  will  not  be  granted.  But  soon  it  takes 
courage,  self-assurance  comes,  and  the  song  bursts  forth 
and  soars  and  fills  the  air  with  its  melodious  uproar. 
*Tis  love,  'tis  youth  and  love   that  can  no  longer  be 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  49 

restrained,  that  nothing  stays,  that  claim  their  rights  in 
life. — His  song  is  done. 

His  song  is  done,  but  still  the  lovers  listen  on  and  on 
to  the  bird's  song,  echoed  in  the  dark  recesses  of  their 
own  hearts. 

At  last,  it  would  be  time  to  return.  They  would  rise 
and  walk  back  toward  the  farm,  not  far  away. 

The  grandmother  would  be  calling  from  the  door- 
way : 

"Livette  !  Livette  !  " 

Her  voice  would  reach  their  ears,  with  a  plaintive, 
caressing  accent,  tinged  with  sadness,  from  the  edge  of 
the  vast  expanse  that  rose  in  the  darkness  toward  the 
stars,  toward  life  and  love, — a  long,  melancholy  call. 
The  voice  at  night  upon  the  moor  fills  the  air  and  rises 
tranquilly,  disturbed  by  no  echo,  sad  to  be  alone  in  a 
too  great  solitude. 

Around  the  lovers  as  they  returned  to  the  farm,  in 
the  orchards,  in  the  park,  as  the  darkness  increased,  the 
deafening  clamor  of  the  frogs  would  soon  be  heard,  a 
mighty  noise,  the  sum  total  of  a  multitude  of  feeble 
sounds,  a  frightful  din,  composed  of  many  minor  croak- 
ings  of  unequal  strength,  which,  massed  together, 
drowning  one  another,  mount  at  last  into  a  rhythmic 
tumult  like  the  ceaseless  roaring  of  a  cataract. 

And  amid  this  formidable  everlasting  clamor,  made 
by  the  voices  of  myriads  of  amorous  little  frogs,  accen- 
tuated by  the  cry  of  a  curlew,  or  a  heron  on  the  watch, 


5©  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

and  accompanied  by  the  humming  of  the  two  Rhones  and 
the  plashing  of  the  sea — the  lovers,  both  deeply  moved, 
heard  nothing  save  the  calm  beating  of  their  hearts. 

As  time  went  on,  their  love  waxed  greater,  increased 
by  the  memory  of  all  these  hours  lived  together. 

Renaud  was  no  longer  simple  Renautl  in  Livette's 
eyes,  but  the  being  by  whom  she  knew  what  life  was, 
through  whom  came  to  her  that  overwhelming  con- 
sciousness of  everything,  of  the  horizons  of  land  and 
sea,  that  sentiment  of  being,  that  longing  for  the  future, 
for  growth,  that  inflow  of  vague  hopes  that  comes  of 
love  and  gives  a  zest  to  life. 

And  now,  if  any  one  had  sought  to  wrest  Jacques 
from  Livette,  she  would  have  died  of  it,  and  he  who 
should  try  to  wrest  Livette  from  Jacques  would  have 
died  of  it— he  would,  my  friends,  even  more  certainly. 

It  is  a  good  and  excellent  thing  that  love  should  be 
always  busied  in  making  the  world  younger — and  the 
nightingale,  like  the  frogs,  is  never  weary  of  repeat- 
ing it. 


VI 


RAMPAL 

Rampal,  who  had  borrowed  Jacques  Renaud's  horse, 
had  not  returned. 

Renaud  now  rode  no  other  horse  than  Blanchet. 

Rampal  was  alow  rascal,  gambler,  hanger-on  of  wine- 
shops, well-known  at  Aries  in  all  the  vile  haunts  scat- 
tered along  the  Rhone. 

Dismissed  by  several  masters,  a  drover  without  a 
drove,  he  passed  his  life  in  these  days,  riding  from  town 
to  town,  from  Aigues-Mortes  to  Nimes,  from  Nimes  to 
Aries,  from  Aries  to  Martigues,  and  in  each  of  these 
towns  plied  some  doubtful  trade,  cheated  a  little  at  cards, 
winning  the  means  of  living  a  week  without  doing  any- 
thing, and  returning,  for  that  week,  to  the  Camargue  he 
loved,  where  there  were,  in  two  or  three  farm-houses, 
women  who  smiled  upon  his  mysterious,  piratical  exist- 
ence. 

For  that  existence,   a  horse  was    essential.     Rampal, 

serving  as  a  drover  on  foot,  had,  in  the  first'  place,  stolen 

a  horse    from  a  manade,  but   he    broke    his    tether  the 

51 


52  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

second  night,  left  his  master,  swam  the  Rhone,  and  re- 
joined his  fellows.  Then  it  was  that  the  rascal,  ha\ing, 
in  truth,  important  business  on  hand,  had  said  to 
Renaud : 

"I  have  to  go  to  Saintes,  I'll  take  your  horse, 
Cabri." 

"Take  my  horse,"  Renaud  replied. 

It  did  not  occur  to  liim  that  Rampal  would  not  re- 
turn. Jacques  relied  so  surely  upon  his  own  reputation 
for  strength  and  courage  that  he  did  not  think  that  any 
one  would  venture  to  arouse  his  wrath. 

And  then  he  had  a  sort  of  pity  for  Rampal,  mingled 
with  a  little  admiration.  He  was  a  bold  horseman,  was 
Rampal,  and,  except  for  women  and  cards,  he  would 
have  been,  with  Renaud,  or  just  after  him,  a  king  of  the 
drovers !  So  that,  if  Rampal  aroused  Renaud's  com- 
passion, Renaud  aroused  Rampal's  envy. 

However,  the  vagaries  of  this  marrias,  this  good-for- 
nothing  knave,  were  the  pranks  of  a  free  man.  Neither 
married  nor  betrothed,  fatherless  and  motherless,  with 
no  one  to  support  or  assist,  no  one  whom  he  must  please, 
he  had  a  perfect  right  to  live  as  he  pleased  !  At  least, 
that  is  what  most  people  thought. 

Moreover,  Renaud,  although  an  honest  man,  had  the 
tastes  of  a  vagabond.  Before  his  heart  was  filled  with 
his  strange  affection  for  Livette,  by  which  he  felt  as  if 
he  were  bound  hand  and  foot,  he  had,  in  truth,  borne 
a  part  with  Rampal  in  many  curious  adventures. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  53 

More  than  once  they  had  galloped  along  side  by  side 
toward  the  open  moor,  each  having  en  croupe  a  laughing 
damsel,  who,  after  the  close  of  a  bull-fight  at  Aigues- 
Mortes  or  Aries,  had  consented  to  accompany  them  for 
a  night. 

But  on  such  occasions  Renaud  had  always  dealt  frankly, 
never  promising  marriage  nor  any  other  thing,  but  simply 
giving  the  fair  one  a  present,  a  souvenir,  a  brass  ring,  or 
a  silk  handkerchief — a  ficJiii  to  pleat  after  the  Arlesian 
fashion,  or  a  broad  velvet  ribbon  for  a  head-dress;  while 
Rampal  was  treacherous,  promised  much  and  did  nothing, 
— in  short,  was  nothing  but  afena,  a  good-for-nothing. 

So  Rampal  had  borrowed  Renaud's  horse  with  the 
intention  of  bringing  him  back  the  same  evening  ;  but 
that  evening  he  had  heard  of  a  fete  at  Martigues  and 
had  ridden  away  thither  without  worrying  about  Renaud. 

"He'll  take  a  horse  out  of  his  manade,^''  he  said  to 
himself. 

Now,  Audiffret,  Livette's  father,  had  insisted  that 
Renaud  should  take  Blanchet. 

"Take  Blanchet,"  he  said.  "I  don't  like  to  have 
our  girl  ride  him.  He's  a  fine  horse,  but  bad-tempered 
at  times.  Finish  breaking  him  for  us.  I  want  him  to 
run  in  the  races  at  Beziers  this  year.     Take  him." 

Happy  to  have  Blanchet  in  the  hands  of  "  her  dear," 
for  so  she  already  called  Renaud  in  her  heart,  Livette, 
who  was  fond  of  Blanchet,  simply  said : 

"Take  good  care  of  him." 


54  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

That  was  more  than  six  months  before. 

Rampal,  who  had  caused  considerable  gossip  mean- 
while, and  of  whom  Renaud  had  heard  more  than  once, 
had  not  brought  back  the  horse. 

Renaud  did  not  lose  his  patience.  Several  times, 
being  informed  that  Rampal  was  in  this  or  that  place, 
he  had  tried  to  find  him,  but  had  not  succeeded. 

"I  shall  catch  him  some  day!  "  said  Renaud.  *'He 
loses  nothing  by  waiting." 

He  hoped  that  the  fete  at  Saintes-Maries  would  bring 
the  rascal  back. 

"He  will  come  back  with  the  thieving  gipsies!  "  he 
said ;  and  he  was  not  mistaken. 

Not  for  an  empire  would  Rampal  have  missed  making 
the  pilgrimage  to  Saintes-Maries.  The  rascal  would  have 
thought  himself  everlastingly  damned.  It  had  been  his 
habit  from  childhood  to  come  and  ask  forgiveness  of  his 
sins  from  the  two  Marys  and  Sara  the  bondwoman,  at 
whom  he  did  nothing  but  laugh  in  a  boastful  way,  unable 
to  satisfy  himself  whether  he  believed  in  them  or  not. 

This  year,  being  affiliated  with  the  gipsies  in  matters 
of  horse-trading  (every  one  knows  that  the  gipsies,  men 
and  women, — roms  and  Juwas,  as  they  say, — have  a 
profound  acquaintance  with  everything  connected  with 
the  horse),  Rami)al  had  been  a  fruitful  source  of  infor- 
mation to  them. 

By  divers  methods  they  had  led  him  to  talk  about  this 
and  that,  about  every  one  and  everything.     He  had  no 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  55 

idea  himself  that  he  had  told  so  many  things.  They 
had  questioned  him,  sometimes  directly,  taking  him  una- 
wares ;  sometimes  in  a  slow,  roundabout  way ;  when  he 
was  drunk,  and  when  he  was  asleep.  And  his  replies 
had  been  pitilessly  registered  in  the  gipsies'  unfailing 
memory — the  wherewithal  to  astonish  all  Camargue. 

Rampal  had  not  even  been  questioned  by  the  gipsy 
queen,  who  did  not  trust  his  discretion ;  she  learned  the 
secrets  of  the  province  at  second-hand. 

Once  only  had  he  spoken  to  her.  It  was  one  evening 
when  the  beggar  queen  began  to  dance  for  her  own 
amusement  on  the  high-road,  to  the  music  of  her  tam- 
bourine,  which  she  hardly  ever  laid  aside. 

"  You  are  beautiful !  "  he  said  to  her. 

"You  are  ugly!"  she  replied,  quickly,  in  a  con- 
temptuous tone. 

"  Give  me  the  ring  on  your  finger,"  said  Rampal, 
"and  I'll  give  you  another." 

She  glanced  with  a  gleaming  eye  at  her  fantastic  ring 
of  hammered  silver,  then  at  the  insolent  Christian,  and 
said: 

"A  sound  cudgelling  about  your  loins  is  what  I  will 
give  you,  dog,  if  you  don't  leave  me  !  " 

And  she  spat  fiercely  at  him  as  if  in  disgust. 

Rampal,  somewhat  abashed,  abandoned  the  game. 

This  woman  had  a  way  of  looking  at  people  that 
disconcerted  them.  You  would  say  that  a  sharp,  threat- 
ening flame  shot  from   her  eyes.      It   penetrated  your 


56  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

being,  searched  your  heart,  and  you  were  powerless 
against  it.  She  fathomed  your  glance,  but  you  could 
not  fathom  hers — which,  on  the  contrary,  repelled  you, 
turned  you  back  like  a  solid  wall.  And,  at  such  mo- 
ments, she  would  stand  proudly  erect,  her  head  thrown 
slightly  back,  her  whole  body  poised,  at  once  so  sinuous 
and  so  rigid,  that  she  might  have  been  compared  to  a 
horned  viper  standing  on  his  tail,  fascinating  his  prey 
and  preparing  to  spring. 

"  I  can't  explain,  Jacques,  how  that  woman  fright- 
ened me,"  said  Livette  to  Renaud.  "My  blood  is  still 
running  cold  ! — She  threatened  me  !  And  when  that 
crown  of  thorns  fell  at  my  feet — Holy  Mother! — I 
thought  I  was  going  to  faint !  " 

"If  I  meet  her,"  Renaud  replied,  "she'll  find  she 
has  some  one  to  settle  with  !  " 

"Let  the  heathen  alone,  Jacques!  It  isn't  well  to 
have  aught  to  do  with  the  devil." 

But  the  drover  loved  a  fight,  and  he  longed  for  noth- 
ing so  much  as  to  fall  in  with  Rampal  and  Zinzara,  the 
gambler  and  the  cjueen  of  the  cards ;  "a  pair  of  gipsies, 
a  pair  of  thieves,"  thought  Renaud. 


ari)apter  IJit 


This  woman  had  a  way  of  looking  at  people  that  dis- 
concerted them.  You  would  say  that  a  sharp,  threatening 
flame  shot  from  her  eyes.  It  penetrated  your  being, 
searched  your  heart,  and  you  were  powerless  against  it. 


merits,  ^ 
Slightly  b-i.  k 
and  so  : 
homed  viper 


re  powerless 

,  but  you  could 

;  irary,  re]>elled  you, 

And,  at  such  mo- 

;rect,  her  head  thrown 

/ised,  at  once  so  sinuous 

have  been  compared  to  a 

tail,  tascinating  his  prey 


and  preparing  ,0^^^  T3tC{B(f!!) 
'*  I   ca*'''':  ex'  ,    i -  w 


-Kenaud. 


that  woraan   fright- 
"  My  blood  is  still 
I      And  when  that 


.tuiinmL'  .,    ,  ^       le-j   mc !,     Ana  wnen  tnat 

crown    a     r,,  irti  :;    in)     tcft — Hoiy    Mother  ! — I 


'   Let  the  hr 
have  aught  to  u 

Bnt  thr-  .-*rr,-'-rT 


,  n '  T 


i\e,  Jacques !     It   isn't  well  to 
devil." 

fight,  and  he  longed  for  noth- 
with  Rampal  and  Zinzara,  the 
rhe  cards;   "a  pair  of  gipsies, 
Ren  Hid. 


r^^r-^-:.   T?^,.^  -^- 


VII 


THE    MEETING 

The  gipsy  queen  was  the  first  of  the  two  he  met. 

Renaud,  mounted'  on  Blanchet,  was  riding  along  the 
beach  toward  Saintes-Maries. 

The  sea  was  at  his  right ;  at  his  left,  the  desert.  He 
was  riding  through  the  sand,  and  from  time  to  time  the 
waves  rolled  up  under  his  horse's  feet,  surrounding  with 
sportive  foam  the  rosy  hoofs  rapidly  rising  and  falling. 

Renaud  was  thinking  of  Livette. 

He  looked  ahead  and  saw  the  tall,  straight,  battle- 
mented  walls  of  Saintes-Maries,  and  wondered  whether 
he  would  lead  his  little  queen,  dressed  in  white,  and 
crowned  with  flowers,  to  the  altar  there,  or  at  Saint- 
Trophime  in  Aries. 

He  looked  at  the  sea  and  wondered  if  nothing  would 
come  to  him  from  that  source  ;  if  his  uncle,  captain  of 
a  merchantman,  who  sailed  on  his  last  voyage  so  many 
years  ago,  would  not  come  into  port  some  day  with  a 
cargo  of  vague,  marvellous  things,  a  million  in  priceless 
stuffs  and  precious  stones?    In  the  poor,  ignorant  fellow's 

57 


58  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

imagination,  the  thought  of  a  fortune  was  a  vision  of 
legendary  treasures,  hke  those  discovered  in  caverns  in 
the  Arabian  tales. 

For  an  instant,  he  seemed  to  see  it  with  his  eyes,  to 
see  his  vision  realized  in  the  dazzling  splendor  of  the 
boundless  sea,  that  lay  glistening  in  the  sunlight,  with 
sharp,  fitful  flashes,  like  a  mirror  broken  into  narrow, 
moving  fragments  of  irregular  shape.  It  was  an  undu- 
lating sheet  of  diamonds  and  sapphires.  The  sun's  rays, 
as  he  sank  lower  and  lower  tow^ard  the  horizon,  assumed 
a  ruddier  hue  as  they  fell  obliquely  upon  the  fast-subsiding 
waves,  and  soon  the  water  was  like  a  sheet  of  old  bur- 
nished gold,  moving  slowly  up  and  down ;  one  would 
have  said  it  was  a  vast  melted  treasure  beneath  a  pol- 
ished vitreous  surface !  At  long  intervals,  a  solitary 
wave  greater  than  its  fellows  fell  with  a  dull  roar  upon 
the  beach,  and  ever  and  anon  a  cloud  passed  overhead ; 
and  in  the  mist  flying  from  the  gold-tipped  wave,  in  the 
slow-moving  shadow  of  the  cloud,  the  water  seemed  a 
deep,  dark  blue.  The  sun  sank  lower,  and  broad  bright 
red  bands  began  to  overshadow  the  bands  of  ochre, 
amethyst,  light  green,  })ale  blue,  that  rose  one  above 
another  on  the  horizon  line.  The  changing  sea  was 
now  like  a  cloak  of  royal  ])urple,  with  fringe  of  azure, 
gold,  and  silver. 

On  the  desert  side,  the  marshes  likewise  were  changed 
to  vast  floors  carpeted  with  gorgeous  drapery  and  rich 
embroidery.     Everything  was  ablaze  with  sparkles — sea, 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  59 

sand,  and  salt.  At  intervals,  a  red  flamingo  rose  from 
among  the  reeds,  flew  heavily  along,  seeming  to  carry 
on  his  side  a  little  of  the  ruddy  hue  of  sky  and  sea, — 
then  lighted  on  the  brink  of  the  gleaming  water. 

The  gulls  were  like  white  dream-birds  in  this  en- 
chanted country.  They  sat  in  lines,  like  brooding 
doves,  on  the  crests  of  the  waves  in  the  offing,  or  on 
the  hot  sands,  or  on  the  surface  of  the  ponds. 

And,  down  in  the  northwest,  Renaud  was  looking  for 
the  high,  square  terrace  of  the  Chateau  d' Avignon,  for 
Livette  sometimes  went  up  there  to  see  if  she  could 
not  spy  Blanchet  and  her  dear  Renaud's  straight  spear 
somewhere  in  the  plain. 

Suddenly  Renaud  checked  his  horse  and  gazed  fixedly 
at  a  black  object  moving  on  the  surface  of  the  water, 
rising  and  falling  with  the  motion  of  the  waves,  some 
two  hundred  feet  from  shore. 

He  thought  he  could  descry  a  woman's  head ;  a  head 
covered  with  dripping  black  hair  and  surrounded  by  a 
copper  circlet,  from  which  depended  glistening  Oriental 
medallions. 

The  gipsy  was  swimming,  disporting  herself  in  the 
waves,  which,  coming  from  the  deep  sea,  rose  and 
fell  slowly  and  at  long  intervals.  She  glided  through 
them  like  a  conger-eel,  happy  in  the  sensation  caused  by 
the  gentle  lapping  of  the  salt  water  caressing  her  flesh. 
Her  movements  were  undulating,  like  those  of  the  waves 
themselves ;  she  writhed  and  twisted  like  seaweed  tossed 


6o  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

about  by  the  surf.  Now  and  then  a  heavier,  higher  wave 
would  come  upon  her.  She  would  turn  and  face  it,  put 
her  hands  together  in  a  point  above  her  lowered  head, 
as  divers  do,  plunge  into  the  broad  wave  horizontally, 
and  cleave  it  through  from  front  to  rear. 

From  his  horse,  Renaud  watched  the  dark  head  emerge 
on  the  other  side  of  the  swelling  wave,  which,  as  it 
approached  the  shore,  curled  over  with  whitening  crest, 
broke  upon  the  beach  in  snowy  foam  and  spread  out 
over  the  sand,  beneath  and  all  about  him,  in  shallow, 
transparent,  overlapping  streams,  all  studded  with  sparks. 
He  could  not  see  the  swimmer's  body  distinctly.  Its 
fleeting  outlines  could  scarcely  be  made  out  beneath  the 
clear,  transparent  water,  ere  they  were  blotted  out  again 
by  the  undulations  and  reflections. 

Suddenly  the  swimmer  turned  toward  the  shore,  ap- 
parently gained  a  footing,  and,  raising  one  arm  out  of 
the  water,  motioned  to  Renaud  to  be  gone,  shouting : 

"  Go  your  way  !  " 

But  he,  who  had  thus  far  watched  her  with  curiosity 
and  with  no  feeling  of  anger,  was  irritated  by  those 
words.  Certainly  he  had  forgotten  none  of  Livette's 
grievances  against  the  gipsy.  Not  a  week  had  passed 
since  her  threatening  visit  to  the  Chateau  d' Avignon. 
But,  in  that  beautiful  evening  light,  Renaud' s  heart  felt 
at  peace,  and  he  had  recognized  the  gipsy  cjueen  with- 
out emotion.  It  may  be  that  curiosity  was  dominant  in 
his  heart,  and  urged  him  toward  this  mysterious  being, 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  6i 

surprised  in  her  bath,  in  the  utter  solitude  of  the  desert  at 
evening  ;  the  curiosity  of  a  traveller  to  examine  a  strange 
animal,  of  a  Christian  to  investigate  a  heathen  woman. 
"Go  your  way !  "  This  command,  hurled  at  him  from 
afar  by  a  woman's  voice,  wounded  him  in  that  part  of 
his  heart  where  the  memory  of  the  gipsy's  threat  against 
Livette  was  stored  away. 

"Ah!  it's  you,"  he  cried,  "you,  who  go  about  and 
stand  in  doorways  to  frighten  young  girls  when  they 
happen  to  be  left  alone  !  who  tell  lies  and  play  monkey- 
tricks  to  make  them  give  you  what  they  refuse  to  give  ! 
Don't  let  it  happen  again,  thief!  or  you'll  find  out  how 
the  pitchfork  and  the  goad  feel  !  " 

The  insulted  queen  was  absolutely  convulsed  with  furi- 
ous rage.  If  she  had  been  near  the  drover,  she  would 
have  jumped  straight  at  his  throat,  as  the  serpent  straight- 
ens itself  out  like  an  arrow  and  darts  at  its  prey.  She 
felt  that  she  grew  pale,  a  shiver  ran  through  her  whole 
body,  and  swaying  a  little,  like  the  adder  about  to 
spring,  with  her  head  thrown  slightly  back,  she  walked 
toward  the  horseman — but  how  far  away  he  was  ! 

"Aha!"  he  cried,  "you  are  coming  near  to  hear 
better !  Come  on,  you  heathen,  come  !  I  will  explain 
it  all  to  you  !  ' ' 

As  he  remembered  how  the  woman  had  threatened 
Livette,  his  wrath  rose  within  him.  They  were  not 
Christians,  these  Bohemian  creatures,  but  thieves,  ban- 
dits, one  and  all.      Why.  it  was  said  that  they  ate  human 


62  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

flesh,  child's  flesh,  when  they  could  find  nothing  better. 
If  that  were  not  true,  how  would  they  have  whole  quar- 
ters of  bleeding  flesh  in  their  kettles  so  often  ?  Ah  I  a 
race  of  wolves,  of  accursed  foxes  ! 

''  Come  on  !  "  he  cried  again. 

She  came  on,  but  not  without  difficulty,  having  to 
force  her  way  step  by  step  through  the  resisting  waves. 
Her  shoulders  were  not  yet  visible,  and  she  was  accel- 
erating her  speed  by  using  her  arms  under  the  water. 
She  could  have  made  the  same  distance  more  quickly 
by  swimming,  but  she  did  not  even  think  of  that.  She 
was  thinking  of  something  very  different ! 

Renaud  mechanically  cast  his  eye  along  the  shore, 
behind  him,  and  saw,  a  few  steps  away,  the  gipsy's 
clothes  lying  in  a  heap  out  of  reach  of  the  waves, — and 
her  tambourine  on  top  of  them ;  then  he  looked  around 
once  more  at  the  woman  coming  toward  him.  The 
water  was  now  up  to  her  armpits,  and  not  until  then 
did  he  see  that  she  was  entirely  naked. 

Her  bust  slowly  emerged  from  the  water.  At  a  hun- 
dred paces  from  the  shore,  the  water  reached  only  to  her 
knees.  She  was  beautiful.  Her  slender,  well-knit  body 
was  very  youthful.  She  stood  very  erect,  and  seemed  as 
if  .she  were  going  into  battle  without  any  thought  of 
shame.  She  had  been  assailed  :  she  was  rushing  at  her 
assailant,  that  was  the  whole  of  it.  Her  fists  were 
clenched,  her  arms  slightly  bent,  her  head  still  thrown 
back   a    little.       Her  whole   attitude   was   threatening. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  63 

The  water  was  rolling  down  in  glistening  pearls  from 
her  neck  to  her  feet,  over  every  part  of  her  swarthy, 
bronzed  body.  Her  swelling  chest  seemed  to  be  put 
forward,  as  if  it  were  ready,  like  a  magic  buckler^  to 
receive  the  blows  that  would  be  powerless  to  injure  it. 

The  drover  sat  still  in  speechless  amazement.  He  gazed 
at  the  approaching  woman,  who,  as  he  saw  her,  springing 
from  the  water,  surrounded  by  white  foam,  with  her  un- 
usual coloring,  appeared  to  him  like  a  supernatural  being. 

What  was  she  there  for  ?  She  came  forward,  boldly 
aggressive;  and  her  witch's  mind  was  revolving  many 
evil  schemes,  no  doubt. 

Did  she  not  bend  over  a  moment,  as  if  to  pick  up 
pebbles  from  beneath  the  water,  with  which  to  stone  her 
enemy  ?  Was  she  not  holding  them  now  in  her  clenched 
fists.  No  :  the  sands  of  Camargue  stretch  very  far  beneath 
the  water,  sloping  very  gradually,  and  not  the  tiniest 
pebble  meets  the  swimmer's  bare  foot. 

What  was  she  doing  then  ? 

And  now  she  was  close  beside  the  horseman,  whose 
curiosity  constantly  increased.  But  he  had  ceased  ques- 
tioning himself.  He  simply  stared  at  her,  stupefied  and 
enchanted. 

He  followed  her  with  his  eyes,  fascinated,  forgetting 
his  spear  resting  upon  his  stirrup,  forgetting  his  horse, 
forgetting  everything. 

And  now  she  was  within  three  paces  of  him,  standing 
perfectly    straight,    insolent    in    her    whole    bearing,   in 


64  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

every  undulation  of  her  figure,  looking  him  in  the 
face,  with  eyes  from  which  a  steely  flame  shot  forth, 
and  which  no  other  eye  could  penetrate.  And  as  she 
presented  her  profile  to  him  for  a  second,  he  had  a 
swift,  hardly  conscious  thought  that  the  lower  part  of 
the  face — from  below  the  nostrils  to  the  base  of  the 
chin — resembled  the  head  of  the  lizard  of  the  sand, 
and  the  turtles  and  snakes  of  the  swamp.  There  was 
the  same  vertical  line,  broken  by  thin,  slightly-receding 
lips,  whence  he  expected  to  see  a  forked,  vibrating 
tongue  come  forth,  as  in  a  dream  of  the   devil. 

But  this  impression  was  but  momentary,  and  he  saw 
naught  but  the  woman,  young,  fair,  unclothed,  seem- 
ingly offering  herself  voluntarily  to  his  savage  lust,  in 
the  security  of  that  deserted  shore,  amid  the  plashing 
of  the  waves,  in  the  fresh  breeze  blowing  from  the 
sea,  and  the  evening  sunlight,  which,  with  the  salt 
water,  coursed  in  streams  over  the  whole  lovely  body. 

Dazzled,  blinded,  drunken  with  the  waves  of  blood, 
which  from  his  heart,  whither  it  had  rushed  at  first, 
suffocating  him  and  making  him  waver  in  his  saddle, — 
now  poured  back  to  his  brain,  suffusing  his  face  and 
bull-like  neck  with  red, — he  was  about  to  leap  down 
from  his  horse,  or  perhaps  to  stoop  over  only,  snatch 
up  the  creature — a  mere  feather  in  his  hands — by 
strength  of  wrist,  and  centaur-like  carry  her  away  en 
croupe, — when  she,  more  prompt  to  act,  darted  forward, 
stretching  out  her  arms,  and  with  her  left  hand  seized 


mmn  VM 


He  saw  yiaught  but  the  uwnan,  young,  fair,  un- 
clothed, seemingly  offering  herself  voluntarily  to  his  sav- 
age lust,  *  *  *  wheyi  she,  more  prompt  to  act,  darted 
forward,  stretching  out  her  artns,  afid  with  her  left  hand 
seized  and  pulled  back  with  all  her  strength  the  double 
rein  of  Renard's  horse,  making  him  rear  and  fall  back. 


KING  or-  CAMAKO^b 

ilation   of   her   figure,  in   the 

li,',  with  eyes   from  which  a  ;iot   forth, 

which  no  other  eye  could  pei  \nd  as  she 

..tl  her  prolile  to  him   for  a  second,  he  had  a 
swift,  hardly  conscious  *  that  the  lower  part  of 

the  face— from  below  t;  to  the  base  of  the 

chin — resembled  the  head  ot    ihe  lizard  of  the  sand, 
the  turtles  and  snakts  swamp.     There  was 

,ae  vertiUTf  e,:rBif(a(t3>;.'  thin,  slightly-receding 
lips,   whence   he   expected    to   see   a   forked,  vibrating 
tia-\gue  come  forth,  as  in  a  riream  of  the   devil, 
-su^   r"^,.,-?^§'tjnn^^^'*${gn^^s'as><it  iAiSfiamtaK^s?.  aM  he  saw 
-'svii   ,  -'^n^^4l\&'M'^^Y&{.V, -S«V\^  ■-0^^■utt88^)q^«k^\:#eJm- 

^'^^'^^^I>^V^!1f^U^g<\l1£qwif,'i\\®l^K3ft«^ily*tQthi^  sj!^>:ftg€^4i^st,  in 
\ii^v^s\  ^^K^ -Ji^i^L^n:  ^f^rthaftr(k.se^.-^osl|^<^^<^^^^ipd^-;^^^shing 
^\*sw\),^5\ih*\-Sa5s^a,^^  ^^- ^^^t  §^:iUe^^svi^l<^^^8i,^Cfs<^^^i   the 

.').-iv.4eikj\Smii-<^  «««Wimft^M^^<A  i^^JH<^W%^Ki^^  ^^* 
water,  coursed  in  streams  o\ti:r  the  whole  lovely  Jaody. 
Dazzled,  blinded,  drunken  with  the  waves  of  blood, 
which  from  his  heart,  whither  it  had  rushed  at  first, 
suiTocating  him  and  makinj;  '  im  waver  in  his  saddle, — 
now  poured   back  to  his  bi  iffusing  hfs  face  and 

bull-like  neck  with  red,-^hL  ,,.  about  to  leap  down 
from  his  b'^'^'-  "^  perhaps  to  stoop  over  only,  snatch 
up    the    c.^c>..w.  — ,^   mere    feather   in    his    hands — by 

^-•'"■'♦h  of  wri-st,  and  centaur-liko  carry  her  away  r« 
.  f.'uj, . — when  she,  more  prompt  to  art,  darted  forward, 

'     •   '•  ing  out  her  arms,  and  with  her  left  hand  seized 


Iv' 


^ 


pM/y. 


.^<> 


^Z'"-^ 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  65 

and  pulled  back  with  all  her  strength  the  double  rein 
of  Renaud's  horse,  making  him  rear  and  fall  back. 
And  with  her  right  hand  she  struck  the  creature's  face  ! 

**  Go,  dog  !  go  and  tell  your  people  that  a  woman  has 
revenged  herself  upon  you  and  has  struck  the  horseman 
on  his  horse's  face  !  Coward  !  Vile  neat-herd  !  Go 
and  tell  it  to  your  sweetheart !  Go,  tell  her  that  when 
I  struck  you,  you  knew  not  what  to  do  or  say  !  ' ' 

There  was  no  wrath  left  in  Renaud  ;  he  had  no  feel- 
ing but  fear  mingled  with  amazement.  The  woman's 
performance  seemed  to  him  in  very  truth  surprising, 
diabolical.  In  coloring,  bearing,  expression,  and  audac- 
ity, she  was  the  sorceress  to  the  life.  A  strange  terror 
took  possession  of  him.  Perhaps  he  would  have  gone 
astray  gaily,  without  remorse,  with  any  other  than  this 
ill-omened  gipsy,  who  terrified  him.  He  was  especially 
alarmed  for  Livette.  He  felt  that  she,  and  he  himself 
with  her,  were  threatened  by  some  mysterious,  obscure 
disaster;  and  the  thought  of  being  unfaithful  to  her 
filled  him  with  dismay,  as  the  beginning  of  the  end. 
He  was  afraid  of  himself;  afraid,  for  Livette,  of  this 
unforeseen,  inexplicable  creature,  who  rose  up  before 
him,  challenging  him  to  contend  with  her,  for  what  ? — 
Thus,  malignity  and  hatred  brought  the  woman  to  him 
as  love  would  not  have  done  ! — He  was  bewildered. 
He  simply  waited  till  his  rein  should  be  let  go,  ready  to 
start  off  at  a  gallop,  feeling  no  longer  in  his  heart  the 
wrath  a  man  must  feel  in  order  to  ride  down  any  woman. 


G6  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

though  she  were  a  witch,  and  trample  her  beneath  his 
horse's  feet,  at  the  risk  of  killing  her. 

But  why  was  he  no  longer  angry  ?  Because  his  eyes, 
against  his  will,  followed  every  movement  of  that  body 
with  its  weird  beauty, — the  body  of  an  enemy. 

"You  would  like  to  fly  like  a  coward,  would  you?" 
she  suddenly  cried.    ' '  You  shall  not  go  until  I  choose  !  ' ' 

Profiting  by  the  horseman's  open-mouthed  stupor,  she 
had  seized  with  her  teeth  a  hanging  end  of  the  lasso  that 
was  coiled  about  the  horse's  neck,  and  with  the  assist- 
ance of  one  hand — the  other  still  holding  the  rein — 
had  swiftly  passed  it  about  the  nostrils  and  tied  it  in 
a  cruel  knot.  With  a  fierce  pull  upon  this  instrument 
of  torture,  she  held  the  beast  fast  just  where  she  wished 
him  to  be. 

"  You  must  wait  until  your  comrades  pass  !  "  she  said. 
"  'i'hey  must  see  a  bull-tamer  tamed  by  a  woman  !  " 

"Upon  my  word,"  thought  Re-naud,  "  that  would  be, 
as  she  says,  a  very  absurd  thing!  "  And  he  drew  his 
horse  back  a  little,  thinking  he  might  release  him,  but 
the  horse  stretched  out  his  head  and  neck,  balked, 
dropped  his  tail,  and  stiffened  his  four  legs,  as  if  he 
were  tied  to  a  wall.  The  gipsy  did  not  stir.  She 
laughed,  showing  an  unbroken  set  of  small,  white, 
pretty,  formidable  teeth. 

"Take  care!  "  said  Renaud  at  last,  "I  am  going  to 
ride  my  horse  upon  you  !  " 

"  I  defy  you  to  do  it !  "  she  replied  tranquilly. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  67 

She  saw  with  her  unerring  glance  signs  of  confusion 
in  the  drover's  eyes  :  the  charm  was  working  !  Through 
a  mist  he  now  gazed  upon  this  woman,  whose  captive  he 
was,  by  virtue  of  a  burning  curiosity  already  closely  akin 
to  love.     She  smiled. 

This  lasted  some  time.  At  last,  Renaud  felt  that  his 
wits  were  leaving  him.  To  remain  faithful  to  Liveite, 
whom  he  could  not  betray  with  the  very  woman  upon 
whom  he  had  promised  to  avenge  her,  he  must  not  dis- 
mount from  his  horse,  for  as  soon  as  he  put  his  foot 
to  the  ground  he  would  have  become  the  stronger  of 
the  two  !  To  remain  faithful  he  must  have  courage  to 
remain  vanquished  in  this  struggle  of  beauty  against 
strength.     And  he  waited. 

She  surprised  the  drover  glancing  for  an  instant 
toward  the  moor. 

"Aha  !  you  are  afraid  some  one  will  see  you,  coward  ! 
but  never  fear  !  Every  one  shall  know  what  has  hap- 
pened to  you,  all  the  same.  I  will  take  care  of  that ! 
Some  day  you  shall  come  and  tell  me  what  your  pale- 
faced,  white-blooded  blonde  had  to  say  to  it !  " 

Humiliated  at  being  forced  thus  to  obey  a  woman,  but 
rendered  wavering  and  weak  by  the  physical  delight  she 
caused  him  to  feel,  he  remained  where  he  was  !  His 
horse,  as  he  irritated  without  maddening  him,  tried 
several  times  to  free  himself,  but  without  success.  Re- 
naud looked  on.  Slight,  supple  as  a  tiger's  whelp, 
active   and   srrong,  and    accustomed   to   contend   with 


68  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

horses,  the  gipsy,  still  holding  the  cruel  cord  in  her  left 
hand,  had  seized  the  long  mane  and  wound  it  about  her 
right  hand,  and  when  the  horse  reared,  she  being  thus 
made  fast  to  him,  allowed  herself  to  be  raised  from  the 
ground,  standing  erect  upon  the  tips  of  her  rigid  toes — 
or  else  she  would  twine  her  feet  about  the  rider's  leg, 
clinging  to  him  as  the  polypus  clings,  with  its  tendons  to 
the  rock,  and  laughing  always,  with  a  wicked,  obstinate, 
triumphant  air. 

''You  shall  never  be  rid  of  me  again  !  " 

At  last,  becoming  more  and  more  alarmed,  he  came 
to  have  a  horror  of  her,  as  of  a  poisonous  insect,  seen 
in  a  dream,  a  spider  or  a  dragon-fly,  that  follows  you 
obstinately,  or  of  an  adder  that  conceives  a  strange, 
almost  human  hatred  for  you,  persists  in  following  your 
footsteps,  with  unwearying  patience,  and  becomes  an 
object  of  terror,  despite  his  puny  size,  because  of  his 
supernatural  tenacity. 

And  in  very  truth  the  fierce  resolution,  the  malevolent 
perseverance,  the  demoniacal  obstinacy  of  the  woman, 
protected  as  she  was  by  her  beauty  and  her  weakness, 
were  terrifying. 

But  the  play  of  the  muscles,  causing  that  gleaming 
flesh,  now  moist  with  perspiration,  to  throb  and  un- 
dulate, aroused  the  man's  interest,  in  spite  of  every- 
thing, and  pleased  him  more  and  more.  Desire  awoke 
in  him.  And  instantly  he  refused  to  accept  his  defeat, 
and  rebelled. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  69 

"  Look  out !  "  he  cried,  and  he  urged  his  horse  for- 
ward, driving  his  spurs  into  his  sides;  but  the  beast, 
held  fast  by  the  nostrils,  gave  but  three  leaps  and  then 
stopped  short,  breathing  fire.  Poor  Blanchet,  who  was 
used  to  his  young  mistress's  caresses  and  sweetmeats  !  he 
was  learning  now  to  know  woman's  true  nature. 

At  last,  the  gipsy  released  her  double  prey. 

"Go !  you  have  looked  at  me  enough!  "  she  suddenly 
exclaimed. 

Renaud  gazed  at  her  an  instant  longer,  without  speak- 
ing or  moving.  The  strength  and  chaotic  character  of 
his  temptations  held  him  fast  there  for  another  moment. 
So  this  extraordinary  experience  (which  would  never  be 
repeated  !)  was  ended  at  last ! — Mad  thoughts,  each  clear 
enough  in  itself,  but  confused  by  their  great  number, 
jostled  one  another  in  his  brain.  Why  had  he  not 
sooner  put  an  end  to  this  conflict  ?  What  would  people 
say  of  him  when  it  was  known  ?  How  could  it  be  that 
he,  the  king  of  the  moor,  had  not  stooped  to  pick  up 
this  joy? — But  Livette? — ah,  yes  !  Livette  ! 

He  buried  his  spurs  in  Blanchet' s  flanks,  and  the  beast 
flew  away  toward  Saintes-Maries. 

The  gipsy  stood  on  the  shore  a  long  while,  looking 
after  the  fugitive.  She  smiled.  She  reviewed  in  her 
mind  the  varying  fortunes  of  the  battle,  and  gauged  the 
extent  of  her  victory.  She  recalled,  one  by  one,  to  en- 
joy them  to  the  full,  the  thoughts  that  had  passed  through 
her  mind  when  she  was  wading  toward  the  shore. 


70 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE 


She  had  not  premeditated  her  assault,  as  she  made 
it — her  first  idea  had  been  to  pick  up  some  stones  and 
throw  them  at  Renaud's  head,  being  an  adept  in  the 
art.  But  she  could  find  none.  So  she  had  continued 
her  forward  movement,  not  knowing  what  she  would 
do,  but  certain  that  she  must  do  something  to  punish 
the  insolent  Christian. 

But  when  she  felt  the  cool  air  blowing  upon  her  bare 
l^reast,  she  had  said  to  herself  in  her  mysterious  lan- 
guage, full  of  cabalistic  words  and  images,  that  if  a  saint 
had  been  able  to  recompense  a  boatman — her  good 
friend — simply  by  revealing  to  him  her  beauty  all  un- 
clothed, a  heathen  might,  by  similar  means,  chastise  a 
brutal  drover ;  for  love  is  the  magician's  herb,  the  bitter- 
sweet, the  plant  with  two  savors,  balm  and  poison  at 
once;  and  woman  is  bitter  as  the  salt  sea  water,  fright- 
ful as  death, — her  hands  are  chains  stronger  than  iron, 
and  her  whole  being  is  as  much  to  be  dreaded  as  an 
army  ! 

Could  not  she,  brown  as  she  was,  almost  black  beside 
the  white  skinned  blondes,  domineer  over  the  pale-faced 
Livette's  lover,  if  she  chose?  Indeed,  what  more  need 
she  do,  to  make  him  unfaithful  to  his  fair  fiancee,  than 
show  herself  to  him,  and  could  she  not  do  it  without 
seeming  to  intend  it  ?  As  she  had,  beyond  question,  been 
insulted  by  this  Christian,  she  could  pretend  to  forget 
her  nudity  in  her  wrath,  and  thus  attack  him  with  that 
same  nudity  ! — No,  no,  there  was  no  need  of  philters, 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  71 

magic  incantations,  or  fires  lighted  at  night  when  the 
moon  is  young,  under  tripods  on  which  marsh-water, 
filled  with  snakes,  is  boiling — no  need  of  such  things  to 
bewitch  this  fellow  !  She  would  come  forth  from  the 
water,  naked  and  lovely  as  she  was,  and  the  devil,  at 
her  command,  would  do  the  rest !  What  were  the 
stones  she  might  throw  at  a  young  man,  compared  with 
the  power  that  exhaled  from  herself?  Yes,  therein 
lay  the  charm  of  charms.  She  knew  it, — being  a  witch 
like  every  other  woman  !  Lust  for  her  body  was  what 
she  would  throw  at  him  like  an  evil  destiny;  with 
that  she  would  poison  his  life — and  then,  she  would 
calmly  watch  the  ravages  of  the  poison. 

And  so  she  had  come  forward,  small  but  formidable — 
the  queen  !  She  knew  also  that  in  former  times,  in  the 
days  of  pagan  Europe,  an  immortal  goddess  had  issued 
from  the  sea,  had  sprung  forth,  fair  and  naked,  like 
a  marvellous  flower,  and,  standing  on  the  blue  waves, 
her  feet  resting  in  a  shell  of  mother-of-pearl,  had  long 
held  sway  over  men — before  the  reign  of  Jesus  Christ. 

Renaud,  turning  in  his  saddle,  saw  the  gipsy  standing 
there,  still  naked,  waving  her  arms  in  the  sunlight,  as  if 
she  wished  still,  from  afar,  to  hold  Livette's  betrothed 
spellbound  and  fascinated  by  her  beauty. 

The  sun  disappeared  below  the  horizon,  and  the  naked 
woman's  figure,  even  more  mysterious  in  the  gathering 
twilight,  was  outlined  in  black  against  a  coppery  red  sky. 


VIII 

ON    THE   BENCH 

From  Saintes-Maries,  whither  he  went  to  ask  how 
many  bulls  he  was  expected  to  bring  on  the  day  of 
the  fete,  Renaud  rode  away  at  once  to  the  Chateau 
d' Avignon. 

He  was  in  haste  to  see  Livette  once  more,  and  sitting 
by  her  side  to  forget  the  scene  of  the  afternoon,  to  which, 
despite  his  efforts,  his  mind  constantly  reverted. 

A  ride  of  four  or  iive  leagues  and  he  reached  his 
destination. 

Livette  and  her  father  and  grandmother  were  sitting 
just  outside  the  farm-house,  enjoying  the  fresh  air  on  the 
stone  bench  against  the  facade  of  the  chateau,  among 
the  old  climbing  rose-bushes  which  frame  the  windows 
above  with  their  bunches  of  green  leaves  interspersed 
with  flowers. 

This  was  also  one  of  the  favorite  resorts  of  our  lovers, 
who  liked  to  have  above  their  heads  the  perfumed  foli- 
age, to  which  one  of  the   nightingales  from  the   park 

often  came  to  sing. 

73 


74 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE 


"Ah!  good-evening,  Jacques." 

"Good-evening,  all." 

"What  brings  you  so  late?  You  have  dined,  of 
course?  " 

"  I  ate  some  anchovies  at  the  Saintes " 

"They're  good  for  nothing  but  to  give  you  an  appe- 
tite. Would  you  like  something  else?  you  have  only 
to  speak." 

"Thanks,  Master  Audiffret.  I'll  just  go  and  look 
after  Blanchet  in  the  stable  and  then  come  back.  I 
won't  go  to  the  Jass  to-night.  I'll  sleep  in  the  hayloft 
with  the  horses." 

Master  Audiffret,  with  his  pipe  between  his  lips,  rose 
and  followed  Renaud  as  far  as  the  door  of  the  stable, 
and  from  there  watched  him  rub  down  his  horse. 

"  Whenever  you  please.  Master  Audiffret,  you  can  take 
him  back  for  Livette.  I  don't  find  any  faults  in  him; 
far  from  it.     He  is  a  good  horse,  and  very  gentle." 

"  He  is  quiet  with  you  because  you  tire  him  out,  you 
see ;  but  she  didn't  use  him  every  day,  not  by  any 
means;  I  am  always  afraid  for  her.  If  she  takes  a 
fancy  to  ride  him  sometimes,  you  can  lend  him  to  her, 
and  take  the  first  horse  that  comes  along  for  yourself. 
By  the  way,  I  hope  you  will  soon  have  your  Cabri 
again.  Somebody  saw  Rampal  yesterday  in  Crau.  He 
was  riding  your  horse,  so  he  hasn't  sold  him,  at  all 
events.  It's  fair  to  suppose  he  means  to  bring  him 
back  to  you." 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  75 

"Oh!  I  will  go  to  meet  him,"  said  Jacques,  "for 
as  to  thinking  he  will  bring  him  back  to  me — oh  !  no ; 
he  would  have  done  that  before  now  ! — Can  you  tell  me, 
Audiffret,  where  Rampal  was  seen  yesterday?" 

"Between  Tibert's  farm  and  Icard's  in  Crau.  Right 
there,  as  you  know,  in  the  middle  of  a  bog,  is  a  hut 
you  can  only  get  to  by  a  plank  walk  built  on  piles  and 
covered  by  the  water — you  can  only  tell  where  it  is, 
when  you  know  the  place,  by  stakes  sticking  up  at  inter- 
vals the  whole  length  of  the  walk.  I  have  an  idea  he 
means  to  go  in  hiding  there,  the  beggar,  like  the  deserter 
who  went  there  to  pass  his  time  of  service " 

"Aha  !  he  has  gone  to  the  Conscript's  Hut,  has  he? 
Very  good;  I  will  go  to  see  him  there,  never  fear!  " 
said  Renaud. 

Blanchet,  having  been  well  rubbed  down,  was  grinding 
the  good  lucern  between  his  teeth.  Renaud  went  out 
of  the  stable,  and  with  Audiffret  sat  down  beside  Livette 
and  the  grandmother. 

All  four  kept  silence  for  a  long  moment.  Noth- 
ing could  be  heard  but  the  unceasing,  melancholy 
croaking  of  the  frogs,  and  beneath  it,  but  indistin- 
guishable, the  dull  murmuring  of  the  two  Rhones  and 
the  sea. 

The  sky  was  swarming  with  innumerable  tiny  stars, 
which  seemed  to  answer  the  various  noises  of  the  pal- 
pitating moor ;  and,  just  as  the  waters  of  the  Rhone, 
after  it  rushes  into  the  blue  ocean,  pursue  their  own 


76  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

course  for  a  long  while  therein,  unmingled,  without  losing 
their  earthy  color ;  so  the  Milky- Way,  made  of  a  dust 
of  stars,  pursued  its  course,  easily  distinguishable,  through 
the  ocean  of  starry  worlds. 

Renaud  had  a  feeling  of  constraint. 

When  he  joined  his  fiancee,  he  did  not  feel  all  that  he 
ordinarily  felt — a  joyful  impulse  to  run  to  meet  her,  a 
sort  of  oppression  at  the  pit  of  the  stomach,  a  sudden 
dehcious  rush  of  the  blood  to  the  throbbing  heart ! — 
And  Livette,  too,  so  soon,  was  conscious  of  a  vague 
inexplicable  feeling  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart  that 
something  was  wrong.  There  was  something  between 
them  !  Indeed,  he  had,  for  the  first  time,  something  to 
conceal  from  her ;  and,  thinking  that  it  might,  that  it 
must  be  apparent,  he  suddenly  said  : 

"I  am  not  well  to-night." 

"  Look  out  for  the  fever  !  "  said  Audiffret.  "  I  know 
it  is  not  as  frequent  or  as  dangerous  as  it  used  to  be, 
but  you  must  be  on  your  guard,  all  the  same  !  Be  on 
your  guard,  and  take  the  remedy.  Up  in  the  pharmacy 
of  the  chateau  are  the  registers  of  the  lime  the  land  was 
first  exploited — the  time  when  the  Chateau  d'Avignon 
people  were  gaining  a  little  arable  land  from  the  swamps 
every  day.  Why,  men  went  to  the  hospital,  fifteen, 
twenty  a  day.  And  such  doses  of  quinine,  my  chil- 
dren !  It  is  all  written  down  in  the  Livre  dc  Raison  up 
there.  In  those  days,  all  the  farms  hereabout  had  the 
same  kind  of  a  book,  called  by  the  same  name,  just  as 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  77 

sailors  have  a  log-book.  Those  were  the  days  of  good 
order  and  gallantry.  The  peasant-women  in  those  days 
didn't  try  to  copy  Parisian  bourgeoises, — eh,  grand- 
mamma?— by  wearing  dresses  that  didn't  suit  them, 
instead  of  the  old-fashioned  gowns  that  made  them 
attractive  because  they  were  so  becoming." 

"Yes,"  sighed  the  grandmother,  "this  is  the  age  of 
pride,  and  my  time  has  gone  by." 

That  is  the  common  remark  of  all  our  old  peasants. 

"People  didn't  read  so  many  newspaper^  in  those 
days,"  continued  Audiffret,  "they  didn't  worry  so  much 
about  the  affairs  of  the  whole  world,  and  every  man  paid 
much  more  attention  to  his  own  affairs.  Things  went 
better  for  it.  Landowners  lived  on  their  estates  and 
raised  families,  instead  of  going  to  Paris  and  dying 
there,  of  pride  or  debt  or  something  else.  The  Livre 
de  Raison  up  yonder  describes  our  ancestors'  battles 
with  the  swamps  and  the  fever.  The  pharmacy  is  still 
in  good  order,  with  the  scales  and  the  jars  in  the  pigeon- 
holes, under  the  dust.  And  the  book  tells  everything, 
diseases  and  deaths.  To-day,  hardly  any  one  dies  of  the 
fever  in  our  neighborhood.  It  is  dying  out.  The  dikes 
and  canals  have  done  good  service,  and  this  Cochin 
China  of  France,  as  that  sailor  called  it  that  I  took  to 
see  the  Giraud  rice-fields,  this  Camargue  of  ours  is  as 
healthy  to-day  as  Crau  ! — However,  be  on  your  guard,  I 
tell  you,  and  take  the  remedy  !  don't  wait  till  to-morrow; 
Livette  will  give  you  what  you  need.      Now,  I  am  going 


78  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

to  bed.  Stay  up  a  little  longer,  young  people,  if  you 
choose.     Are  you  coming,  grandma  ?  ' ' 

"No,  I'll  stay  out  a  moment  longer  with  the  young 
folks,"  said  the  old  woman. 

Audiffret  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  against 
the  corner  of  the  bench,  and  having  put  it  in  his  pocket, 
went  up  to  bed. 

Silence  reigned  upon  the  bench. 

The  grandmother  was  tired  and  sleepy :  every  little 
while  she  would  raise  her  head  as  if  suddenly  awak- 
ened,— then  it  would  begin  to  fall  forward  again,  slowly, 
slowly 

"A  heavy  dew  is  falling,"  observed  Livette,  sud- 
denly. 

"  Yes,  demoiselle. ' ' 

"  See  !  "  said  she  ingenuously,  holding  out  her  arm  so 
that  he  could  feel  the  dampness  on  the  sleeve  of  her 
dress.  But  he  did  not  put  out  his  hand.  He  was  not 
all  Livette's  that  evening,  as  usual.  Strangely  enough, 
she  did  not  frighten  him  that  evening.  He  was  not,  as 
usual,  overcome  with  diffidence  in  her  presence.  She 
no  longer  dominated  him.  And  he  was  angry  with 
himself.  He  suffered.  He  realized  that  his  thoughts 
were  more  frequently  busied  with  the  memory  of  the 
day  than  with  his  sweetheart,  who  was  sitting  so  near 
him. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about?"  said  Livette,  who 
had  had  her  eyes  upon  him  for  a  moment  past,  as  if  she 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  79 

could  see  his  face  distinctly,  although  they  were  sitting 
in  the  shadow.  Beyond  question,  she  felt  that  his 
thoughts  were  elsewhere.  There  is  nothing  more  subtle 
than  a  lover's  divination. 

"I  am  thinking,"  said  Renaud,  a  long  minute  after 
the  question,  "about  my  horse,  which  I  propose  to  take 
back  from  Rampal  to-morrow  if  he  can  be  found  in 
Camargue  or  Crau." 

"And  then?" 

"And  then?"  he  repeated — "I  was  thinking  of  the 
Conscript's  Hut,  where  he  is  at  this  moment,  perhaps, — 
in  hiding." 

"And  of  what  else?"  Livette  insisted. 

"  Oh  !  how  do  I  know  !  of  the  fever — of  all  we  have 
just  been  saying " 

"Alas!  "  said  the  maiden,  "and  not  at  all  of  me, 
Renaud  ?  do  you  not  think  of  me  any  more  ?  ' ' 

Her  voice  was  sad. 

He  shuddered,  and  the  movement  did  not  escape  the 
little  one's  notice.  It  seemed  to  him,  as  Livette  uttered 
that  reproach,  that  he  saw  the  gipsy  again  as  he  had 
seen  her  in  the  afternoon,  standing  before  him,  near  at 
hand,  all  naked  and  so  brown  !  as  if  she  were  accus- 
tomed to  pass  her  days  naked  in  the  sun,  and  were 
tanned  from  head  to  foot  by  his  rays.  And  how  lithe 
and  sinewy  the  wild  creature  was  !  A  genuine  animal, 
a  little  Arabian  mare,  of  much  finer  breed  than  the 
Camargue  stock.     Alas !    for  too  long  a  time,   through 


8o  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

fidelity  to  his  fiancee,  he  had  been  as  virtuous  as  a  girl, 
and  now  the  hot-blooded  fellow's  continence  was  taking 
its  revenge  upon  him,  a  cruel  revenge,  arousing  mad, 
amorous  longings  that  were  not  for  Livette.  And  so  his 
very  respect  for  her — poor  child! — turned  against  her! 

"Jacques?"  said  Livette,  in  the  hardly  audible  tone 
the  sentiment  of  love  imparts  to  the  lover's  voice,  a  soft, 
veiled  tone,  heard  by  the  heart  rather  than  by  the  ear. 

Renaud  did  not  hear  her.  He  saza. — He  saw  the 
gipsy  as  plainly  as  if  she  were  there  before  him,  even 
more  plainly.  In  the  darkness  of  the  night,  her  body, 
brown  as  before,  seemed  luminous,  like  an  opaque  sub- 
stance giving  forth  a  pale  light.  Her  naked  figure, 
obscure  and  bright  at  the  same  time,  was  standing  mo- 
tionless before  his  eyes — then  it  moved — and  he  fancied 
that  he  saw  the  gipsy  bathing  in  the  phosphorescent 
water  peculiar  to  the  summer  months, — when  swimmers 
cause  a  cold,  liquid  light  to  dart  hither  and  thither 
through  the  dark  water,  following  and  marking  the 
outlines  of  their  forms,  from  which  it  seems  to  radiate. 

"  Have  I  the  fever?  "  he  said  to  himself. 

As  if  in  answer  to  the  unspoken  question,  Livette 
took  his  hand.  She  felt  it  from  wrist  to  finger-ends, 
to  see  if  it  were  dry  and  hot. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  "you  must  look  out;  father  was 
right,  you  have  a  touch  of  fever.  Come  uj)  and  find 
the  medicine." 

"Come  on,"  said  he,  glad  of  the  diversion. 


arf)aptcr  Y]IM 


Silence  reigned  upon  the  bench. 

The  grandmother  was  tired  and  sleepy :  every  little 
while  she  would  raise  her  head  as  if  suddenly  awak- 
ened,— then  it  would  begin  to  fall  forward  again,  slowly, 
slowly 


8o  KING   UF   CA/.\ 

fidelity  to  his  fianc6e,  he  ha'  .  i 

and  now  the  hot-bloodet:  ontinence  was  taking 

its  revenge  upon  him.  •;  revenge,  arousing  mad, 

amorous  longings  ot  for  I.ivette.     And  so  his 

very  respect  for  her — '^xh^t  child  1 — turnea  against  her! 

"Jacques?"  said   i  !sette,  in  the  hardly  audible  tone 

the  sentiment  of  \-  •.  arts  to  the  lover's  voice,  a  soft, 

veiled  tone,  he,  the  heart  rather  than  by  the  ear. 

Renaud  did  3^^'    ht-ar  her.      He  saza. — He   saw   the 

gipsy  as  plain  14i*'i^.>Ssh?^A4Wt'M;re  before  him,  even 

more  plainly,     ir.  thexlarkuess  of  the  night,  her  body, 

brown  as  before,  -(^emed  luminous,  like  an  opaque  sub- 

stance   giving   fovh  4^pt<>^'t^.n-l^^>^^^^^"^"?,a^^a^\rure, 

»»\\^&')Any3.%  ;t^K^^!^V^„sS«^'ft*At»:^^-.\ft^  f?*A^^sV^'Sa^^T'a.ii>ffi^  mo- 

-ixiHiMii ''(\S\^yc^c>^  -tsi  \ssrt)^i«*>^  't«a-^'  \ii'sswaaii'iiVfec^Y8^«5ied 

water  peculiar  tf  *  ■■  sumuitr  niontba, — when  s,wjjj^ij^ers 
cause  a  cold,  light  to  dart   hither  and    thither 

through  the  dark  wuter,  following  and  marking  the 
ont^■n^-^  of  their  f"  .  ^-  from  which  it  seems  to  radiate. 
-.„ve  I  the  ft  he  said  to  himself 

As  if  in  answe le  unspoken    question,   Livette 

i-ook  •  V  V,:-,,?  She  ■"''  it  from  wrist  to  finger-ends, 
to  S'.  .'  dry  a 

"  ^'c  .      ... ,  i  she,  •  i.-t  look  out;    father  was 

righi,  you  have  a  touci.  -      Come  up  and  find 

the  me<^''"''i-   " 

"  Coii.v,  ^,n.     :,,.  '-diversion. 


''r^ V^-" 


X 


-^*Sf^ 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  8i 

"Come,"  she  repeated,  "but  move  softly:  grandma 
has  fallen  asleep  !  ' ' 

The  old  lady  was  asleep,  as  she  said.  She  was  lean- 
ing against  the  wall,  perfectly  motionless.  The  white 
handkerchief,  tied  in  the  Arlesian  fashion,  instead  of 
covering  her  chignon  only,  enveloped  almost  her  whole 
head,  allowing  two  tufts  of  coarse,  white  hair,  all  in 
disorder,  to  protrude,  like  mist,  on  each  side  of  her  face. 

She  was  asleep,  her  mouth  partly  open,  a  ray  of  light 
shining  through  upon  her  teeth,  which  were  still  beauti- 
ful. 

They  left  her  there. 


IX 


THE    PRAYER 

Livette  opened  the  farm-house  door,  which  creaked 
loudly  in  the  resonant  emptiness  of  the  spacious  stone 
staircase. 

She  lighted  the  lamp,  which  was  hanging  on  a  nail, 
and  they  went  up-stairs  together,  she  absorbed  by  thoughts 
of  him,  and  he  of  her,  but  no  longer  in  their  accustomed 
condition  of  affectionate  embarrassment. 

He  held  the  iron  lamp,  hanging  at  the  end  of  its 
hooked  stick;  and  to  relieve  his  conscience,  to  do  his 
duty  as  a  lover,  and  perhaps  in  that  way  to  change  the 
current  of  his  thoughts,  perhaps  to  set  at  rest  the  amo- 
rous anxiety  with  which  he  was  assailed, — to  force  him- 
self to  return,  heart  and  soul,  to  Livette,  and,  who 
knows? — so  hard  to  fathom  is  man  with  his  background 
of  devil  ! — perhaps,  with  her  and  unknown  to  her,  to 
satisfy  to  some  extent  the  passion  kindled  by  the  other — 
for  all  these  reasons  together,  more  inextricably  mingled 
than  the  twigs  of  the  climbing  rose-bushes,  he  said  to 
himself:  "  I  will  kiss  her  !  "  He  had  never  done  that 
thing, — except   in   the   presence   of  the   old    people, — 


84  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

but  the  Renaud  of  that  evening  was  not  the  Renaud 
of  other  days,  in  his  feeling  for  Livette.  The  powerful 
leaven  of  his  wild  nature  was  swelling  his  veins  to  burst- 
ing. In  very  truth,  he  had  the  fever, — at  all  events,  a 
species  of  fever.  All  his  nerves  were  overstiained;  in  his 
eyes,  even  the  most  indifferent  objects  wore  an  unusual 
look.  And  in  Livette  he  saw,  in  spite  of  himself,  re- 
proaching himself  bitterly  therefor,  things  which  ordi- 
narily he  refused  to  see.  And  as,  being  always  dressed 
in  the  Arlesian  fashion,  she  wore  the  fichu  of  white 
muslin  crossed  upon  her  breast  so  low  as  to  afford  a 
glimpse,  beneath  the  gold  chain  and  cross,  of  the  white 
throat,  above  the  meeting  of  the  stiff  folds,  laid  neatly 
one  upon  another,  his  passionate  gaze  fell  upon  that 
spot,  amid  the  modest  arrangement  of  muslin,  prettily 
called  "the  chapel." 

In  his  left  hand  was  the  lamp,  which  he  held  shoulder- 
high,  and  as  far  away  as  possible,  to  avoid  the  drops  of 
oil, — and  he  wound  his  right  arm  about  Livette's  waist 
as  she  placed  her  hand  upon  the  iron  rail. 

At  every  step  they  climbed,  he  felt  the  play  of  the 
muscles  of  his  fiancee's  youthful  frame,  imparting  to 
the  arm  about  her  waist  a  soothing  languor  that  ran 
through  his  whole  being, — and  yet  his  heart  did  not 
rejoice  thereat ;  and  he  realized  that,  ordinarily,  if  the 
end  of  the  velvet  ribbon  in  Livette's  head-dress  touched 
his  face,  it  caused  a  sweeter  thrill  of  pleasure  in  his 
blood,  and  more  than  all  else,  a  pleasure  which  there 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  85 

was  no  mistaking.  And,  thereupon,  he  grew  vexed  with 
himself  as  for  a  failure  of  duty,  he  was  oppressed  by  a 
presentiment  of  disaster,  vague  but  inevitable.  And 
she  felt  more  and  more  keenly  the  rebound  of  his  emo- 
tions. She  was  conscious  that  her  peace  of  mind  was 
endangered.  Something  certainly  was  against  her.  The 
arm,  which  had  sometimes  been  about  her  waist  as  now, 
no  longer  seemed  to  be  her  lover's  arm,  but  a  mere  ordi- 
nary man's.  She  suffered,  and  did  not  understand.  The 
look  she  saw  in  his  eyes  was  a  strange  look  from  him, 
without  affection,  without  pity  even.  She  knew  him 
well,  honest  Renaud,  her  promised  husband,  and  yet  she 
was  afraid  of  him  as  of  a  stranger! 

All  these  thoughts  passed  very  quickly  through  their 
minds,  the  more  quickly  because  they  were  simply  con- 
scious of  them,  and  did  not  stop  to  try  to  analyze 
them.  The  all-powerful  human  electricity,  less  known 
than  the  other  variety,  was  playing  its  game,  impossible 
to  follow,  in  their  hearts,  with  its  vast  network  of  currents 
and  connections.  In  these  two  creatures  of  instinct,  the 
ever-recurring  prodigy  of  love,  of  natural  affinity — of 
the  sympathies  and  their  opposite — was  seen  once  more, 
as  mysterious,  as  marvellous,  as  profound  as  ever.  So 
far  as  nature  is  concerned,  there  are  two  beings :  man 
and  woman ;  there  are  no  subdivisions.  At  the  basis 
of  humanity,  all  life  is  the  same,  all  passion  is  the  same. 
The  student  of  the  higher  races  labors  incessantly  to 
perfect  his  reasoning  and  his  powers  of  expression,  but 


86  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

there  is  more  overflowing,  complicated  life  in  the  heart 
of  his  ignorant  brother  than  in  the  heads  of  the  phi- 
losophers, who,  by  dint  of  self-analysis,  have  lost  the 
faculty  of  emotion.  They  who  deem  themselves  most 
skilful  in  discovering  the  real  man  in  themselves,  do  not 
perceive  that  they  pervert  the  secret  impulses  of  their 
hearts  by  keeping  too  close  a  watch  upon  them.  The 
light  of  their  miner's  lamp  changes  the  psychological 
conditions,  just  as  constant  light  would  modify  the  phy- 
siological condition  of  human  beings  and  plants.  And, 
meanwhile,  love  and  death  repeat,  in  the  eternal  dark- 
ness of  their  simple  hearts,  their  unwitnessed  miracles. 

They  had  reached  the  landing  on  the  first  floor — as 
large  as  an  ordinary  room.  At  the  last  step,  Renaud, 
almost  lifting  Livette  to  the  landing,  tried  to  draw  her 
to  him,  but  she  was  seized  with  an  impulse  to  resist,  and 
he  with  a  sudden  impulse  to  resist  himself;  separately, 
the  two  impulses  would  have  had  no  effect ;  but  com- 
bined, they  exerted  sufficient  force  to  place  an  obstacle 
between  them,  as  if  by  mutual  consent.  That  force  was 
the  witchery  at  work. 

As  they  did  not  exchange  a  word,  their  embarrassment 
increased. 

Hastily,  to  escape  the  constraint  each  imposed  upon 
the  other,  she  ran  to  the  door  at  the  right  and  entered. 
And  he,  well  pleased  to  be  able  to  do  or  say  something 
to  bring  them  nearer  together,  called  out : 

"  Wait  for  the  light,  Livette  !     I  am  coming." 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  87 

But  Livette  had  suddenly  remembered  the  gipsy's 
threat.  "It  is  fate,"  she  said  to  herself,  "I  see  it 
now  !  "     And  she  felt  herself  grow  pale. 

Then  she  had  an  inspiration. 

"Follow  me,  Renaud." 

They  passed  through  rooms  where  furniture  of  the 
time  of  the  Empire  was  sleeping  beneath  its  covers, 
and  the  long  hangings  falling  from  the  ceiling  in  broad, 
stiff  folds,  and  withered,  as  it  were,  by  time ;  rooms 
seldom  visited  by  the  master,  but  kept  in  order  by 
Livette  and  her  grandmother. 

At  last,  Renaud  and  Livette  reached  an  apartment  with 
bare,  whitewashed  walls,  once  used  as  a  chapel. 

A  wooden  altar,  entirely  devoid  of  fittings  and  orna- 
ment, stood  at  one  end  of  the  room.  Before  the  white 
and  gold  door  of  the  tabernacle  the  sacred  stone  was 
missing,  leaving  a  square  hole  in  the  wood-work  of  the 
altar. 

But  Livette  opened  a  broad  door  flush  with  the  wall. 
It  opened  into  a  closet  in  the  wall.  When  the  door 
was  thrown  wide  open,  they  could  see,  below  a  shelf 
about  level  with  their  heads,  chasubles  and  stoles  hang- 
ing straight  and  stiff — with  great  crosses  in  heavy  gold 
embroidery — suns  from  which  the  dove  came  forth; 
and  mystic  triangles,  and  Agnus  Deis.  Among  all  the 
others  were  vestments  for  use  in  mourning  ceremonies, 
— black,  with  bones  and  executioners'  ladders,  hammers 
and  nails,  in  heavy  white  embroidery ;  and — to  Livette's 


88  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

amazement — there,  in  the  centre  of  a  stole,  on  silk  as 
black  as  night,  was  worked  a  crown  of  thorns  in  silver, 
which,  in  the  lamplight,  seemed  to  emit  bright  rays. 

On  the  shelf,  above  all  these  priestly  vestments — which 
were  arranged  with  the  backs  outward,  hung  in  such 
fashion  that  you  seemed  to  be  looking  at  the  priests 
standing  at  the  altar — on  the  shelf,  between  the  goblet 
and  the  pyx,  shone  the  consecrated  host,  a  radiant  sun, 
mounted  upon  a  pedestal  like  a  candelabrum;  and  in 
the  centre  of  its  rays  was  a  gleaming  circle  of  plain 
glass,  which  also  reflected,  in  fantastic  guise,  the  flame 
of  the  lamp. 

"Kneel,  Renaud  !  "  said  Livette.  "Prayer  is  the 
cure  for  what  is  happening  to  us.  Kneel  and  let  us 
pray!  " 

The  drover  obeyed.  He  understood  that  Livette's 
purpose  was  to  exorcise  fate. 

She  prayed  in  silence  fervently.  He,  marvelling, 
unwonted  to  the  attitude  of  prayer,  and  striving  to  keep 
himself  in  countenance,  looked  from  time  to  time  at 
the  lamp  he  held  in  his  hand,  raised  it  to  get  a  better 
view  of  the  ecclesiastical  treasures,  and,  diverted  for 
the  moment,  by  constant  effort,  from  the  perplexity  that 
weighed  upon  his  heart,  he  was  the  more  wretched  when 
his  mind  suddenly  reverted  to  Livette. 

Thereupon  he  said  to  himself  that  she  certainly  had 
guessed  the  truth ;  that  there  was,  in  fact,  a  spell  upon 
him,  and,  in  his  heart,  he  implored  the  merciful  God  of 


orijapter  M 


In  his  left  hand  was  the  lamp,  which  he  held  shoulder- 
high,  and  as  far  away  as  possible,  to  avoid  the  drops  of 
oil, — and  he  wound  his  right  arm  about  Livette' s  waist 
as  she  placed  her  hand  upon  the  iron  rail. 


8.-^  KING  OF  CAMARGUn 

t — there,  in  the  centre  of  a  -Jiolc,  on  silk  as 
,is  night,  was  worked  a  crowji  of  thorns  in  silver, 
whicn,  in  the  lamplight,  seemed  to  <  rnit  bright  rays. 

On  the  shelf,  abo\  e  all  these  pi  lesdy  vestments — which 
were  arranged  with  the  backj  outward,  hung  in  such 
fashion  that  you  seemed  to  be  looking  at  the  priests 
standing  at  the  altar — on  the  shelf,  between  the  goblet 
and  the  pyx,  shone  the  i  ated  host,  a  radiant  sun, 

mounted  upon  a  pedesr.u  like  a  candelabrum;  and  in 
the  centre  of  its  raA-s  i  L^ii^miing  circle  of  plain 
glass,  which  also  rCT*^  ,  .  Ti  "■Ttastic  guise,  the  flame 
of  the  lamp.  

"Kneel,  Renaud  ■■  1  Livette.      "Prayer  is  the 

^^«.^Vo^.f^^^v.  .^-^^.i^^^te&f^j^l?'  us 

purposf   ^v;isYi^  t;t^-^\  ^M  .j^Q<^  Vs^Sis\  -^^^  "a^^ssA^  "i^l  l» 
She  1   in    si  tervently.     He,   marvelling, 

unwonted  to  the  attit  prayer,  and  striving  to  keep 

himself  in  countenance,  looked  from  time  to  time  at 
the  lamp  he  held  in  hi.>  hand,  raised  it  to  get  a  better 
view  of  the  ecclesiastica  'reasures,  and,  diverted  for 
the  m*^^'  v  constant  from  the  perplexity  that 

wc.  heart,  he  ^^.'<  the  more  wretched  when 

his  nun*  1  \erted  'tte. 

Ill    lijon  he  said  to  iit  she  certainly  had 

1  the  truth  ;  that  there  >  fact,  a  spell  upon 

id,  in  his  heart,  he  impK  merciful  God  of 


v^sS*^^a 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  89 

the  Cross,  the  mystic  triangle,  the  symbolical  bird  and 
lamb,  to  come  to  his  aid. 

'*  Forgive  us  our  trespasses  as  we  forgive  those  who 
trespass  against  us  !  "  Livette  suddenly  exclaimed,  aloud, 
thinking  of  the  gipsy. — "O  God,"  she  added,  "we 
promise  Thee  that  on  Saintes- Maries  Day,  which  is  near 
at  hand,  we  will  each  carry  three  tapers  to  their  church, 
and  wait,  until  they  are  so  far  consumed,  one  after  the 
other,  in  their  honor,  that  our  finger-tips  are  burned  !  " 

Then  she  rose — but  before  they  left  the  room,  they 
closed  the  unpretentious  double  door  upon  the  objects 
of  a  dead  cult,  left  in  the  darkness  of  abandonment — 
the  goblet  without  wine,  the  pyx  without  bread,  and  the 
consecrated  host,  whose  polished  metal  case  held  naught 
within. 


X 


THE   TERRACE 

He  was  well  aware  that  he  needed  no  fever  medicine, 
and  that  his  fever  did  not  come  from  the  swamps. 

She  said  no  more  about  the  drug,  but  as  they  stood 
on  the  landing  and  he  was  preparing  to  descend,  she 
said : . 

"  Suppose  we  go  out  on  the  terrace?" 

Livette  wished  to  prolong  the  tete-a-tete,  to  ascertain 
if,  after  her  prayer,  she  would  find  her  Renaud  in  him 
once  more. 

He  placed  his  lamp  on  the  floor  at  the  top  of  the 
staircase,  and,  pushing  open  the  door  just  above  the  last 
step,  they  both  stood  on  the  terrace  that  overlooks  the 
whole  chateau. 

A  square  terrace,  and  in  the  centre  the  great  bell  lay 

upon  its  side  in  its  iron  cage — the  great  bell,  three  feet 

in  diameter,  that  in  the  old  days  called  to  work  as  well 

as  to  prayer,  and  when  it  rang  the  Angelus  caused  the 

fever-haunted  farm-laborers  to  fall  upon  their  knees  on 

the  brink  of  the  miasmatic  bogs. 

91 


92  KING   OF  CAMARGUE 

Both  of  them,  one  after  the  other,  mechanically  struck 
the  bell  with  their  foot,  as  it  lay  there  on  its  side.  It 
gave  forth  a  short,  plaintive  note,  quickly  stifled  by 
contact  with  the  flag-stones.  It  was  like  the  sigh  of  a 
mystery-haunted  soul. 

With  hearts  as  sad  as  the  bell,  they  leaned  on  the 
stone  parapet  in  presence  of  the  night. 

Livette  and  Renaud  loved  each  other,  but  affection 
was  no  longer  enough  for  him.  The  sap  of  the  spring- 
time, boiling  in  his  veins  in  lustful  desire,  gave  birth,  in 
Livette's  heart,  to  sweet  flowers  of  reverie. 

The  swarming  of  the  stars  above  their  heads  was 
beyond  comprehension.  They  were  as  many  as  the 
gadflies  and  frogs  in  the  desert,  or  the  waves  of  the  sea. 
They  seemed  to  open  and  half  close,  like  flowers  in  a 
meadow,  waved  to  and  fro  by  a  light,  quickly-passing 
breath,  like  e)'elids  making  signs. 

They  seemed  to  have  something  to  say,  to  move  like 
lips  speaking  a  living  language,  telling  of  something  of 
great  moment  that  must  be  known  at  once — but  no 
sound  coming  from  them  reaches  the  ears  of  men, 
for  human  hearing  is  not  keen  enough.  Nor  is  the 
human  sight  keen  enough  to  see  that  the  dust  of 
the  Milky-Way  (pale  as  the  pollen  of  flowers)  is  also 
made  of  stars.  Though  men  have  seen  it  with  a  differ- 
ent sight,  afforded  by  man's  inventive  genius,  that  sight 
is  powerless  to  pierce  farther  and  deeper — to  learn  all 
there  is  to  know.  " 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  93 

Moreover, — and  Renaud  himself  had  heard  the  story 
from  the  shepherds  who  pass  the  winter  in  Camargue 
and  Crau,  and  spend  their  nights  in  summer  counting 
the  stars  upon  the  summits  of  the  Alps, — there  are,  in 
space,  beyond  the  skies  visible  to  our  eyes,  fires  alight  so 
far  away  from  us,  so  far  away  that  their  light,  now  on  its 
way  toward  our  earth,  will  not  reach  us  for  centuries 
to  come.  The  men  who  follow  us  centuries  hence  will 
see  twinkling  stars  that  even  in  our  day  were  lighted 
and  making  signs  we  could  not  see.  And  in  those  days 
ideas,  which  are  already  kindled  in  men's  minds,  and 
are  seen  to-day  by  none  save  those  in  whom  their  light 
is  shed,  will  shine  for  all,  and  one  of  them  will  be,  for 
every  mortal,  the  love  and  pity  of  the  world. 

Certain  it  is,  that  neither  Renaud  nor  Livette  could 
fathom  those  infinite  depths ;  but  from  the  vast  expanse 
of  heaven,  swarming  with  tiny  lights,  a  nameless  emo- 
tion stole  into  their  hearts,  made  up  of  all  their  hopes 
to  come. 

Future  worlds,  lovelier  than  this  of  ours,  were  dream- 
ing in  them,  with  them. 

In  them,  too,  because  they  were  young  and  human, 
there  was  a  share  in  the  future.  In  them,  too,  was  the 
responsibility  for  future  lives.  In  them,  too,  lurked 
the  mystery  of  generations  to  be  born,  for  whom  a 
single  couple,  surviving  the  wreck  of  the  demolished 
world,  would  be  enough  to  bestow  upon  them  the  desire 
to  live  and  the  power. 


94  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

A  spark  is  the  basis  of  all  fire.  A  man  and  a  woman 
are  the  basis  of  all  love.  Infinity  is  no  greater  than 
the  number  two.  And  that  is  why  the  great  scholars, 
who  figure  like  Barreme,  know  no  more  of  life  and 
the  heart  than  Livette  and  Renaud — who  knew  nothing 
at  all. 

They  knew  naught  save  that  they  were  alive  and  that 
they  wished  to  love  each  other  and  that  they  sought  and 
shunned  each  other  at  the  same  moment — but  they  did 
not  ask  each  other  why.  They  said  nothing.  They 
felt.  They  could  not  say  to  each  other  that  rivalry  and 
jealousy,  that  is  to  say  grief,  serve  the  designs  of  nature, 
whose  purpose  doubtless  is,  by  arousing  those  emotions, 
to  quicken  desire,  so  that  creation  may  be  assured  by 
outbursts  of  passion,  and  the  future  of  mankind  by  the 
imperious  need  of'  pleasure. 

What  does  the  law  care  for  the  weak  and  the  van- 
quished? the  strong  alone,  they  say,  it  wishes  to  per- 
petuate. 

Pity  and  justice  are  human  inventions,  and  will  never 
triumph  until  they  have  been  slowly  assimilated  by  the 
human  mind  to  the  matter  of  which  it  is  made. 

They  suffered,  they  longed  for  happiness — beneath 
that  mystery-laden  spring  sky.  They  awaited  the  com- 
ing of  their  joy,  they  summoned  their  every  hope,  and 
they  gazed  at  the  dark  horizon,  at  the  desert,  where 
the  tracts  of  sand  shone  like  mirrors  among  the  dark 
reeds,  and  the  ponds  glistening  with  salt  between  the 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  95 

black  lines  of  tamarisks.  They  gazed  upon  the  bound- 
less expanse  in  which  they  seemed  lost,  and  where, 
nevertheless,  they  felt  that  they  alone  were  an  epitome 
of  everything;  they  listened,  without  hearing  them,  to 
the  unending  noises  of  the  island, — the  murmuring 
of  the  water,  the  rustling  of  the  reeds,  the  waving 
foliage,  the  growling  of  wandering  beasts,  the  distant 
roaring  of  two  rolling  rivers  and  a  restless  sea; — and 
this  combined  voice  of  the  whole  island  formed  a 
fitting  accompaniment,  by  reason  of  the  extent  and 
number  of  the  sounds  that  composed  it,  to  the  silent 
twinkling  of  the  stars,  that  no  one  hears. 

There  was  in  the  park,  invisible  to  them  at  that  hour, 
a  foreign  tree,  on  which  the  flowers  could  be  seen,  by 
daylight,  opening  with  a  slight  noise.  They  sometimes 
amused  themselves  by  watching  that  tree,  said  to  have 
come  from  Syria.  A  slight  report,  as  if  muffled,  and  a 
tiny  cloud,  of  very  powerful  odor,  would  issue  from  the 
bursting  cell.  The  tree  continued,  during  the  night,  to 
send  out  its  dust  of  passions  in  quest  of  prey,  and  its 
strange  perfume  was  wafted  upward  to  the  lovers. 

They  trembled  with  joy  at  the  slightest  contact  with 
each  other.  Ah  !  if  she  could  but  have  given  him,  on 
that  beautiful  May  evening,  all  the  love  his  lusty  youth 
demanded ;  if  he  could  but  have  felt  her  clinging  lips 
melt  beneath  his  burning  ones,  upon  that  lofty  terrace 
overlooking  the  rounded  tops  of  the  huge  trees  in  the 
park,  beneath  that  dark  star-spangled  sky,  doubtless  his 


96  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

little  betrothed  would  have  remained  sole  mistress  of  his 
heart ! 

But  there  were  too  many  obstacles  between  Livette 
and  Renaud;  and  as  he  struggled  virtuously  to  keep 
away  from  her,  his  thoughts  flew  off  to  the  other. 

And  Livette  was  already  conscious  of  the  heartache 
of  the  deserted  lover.  All  the  broad  expanse  of  level 
country  that  her  eyes  knew  so  well,  and  that  she  felt 
about  her  in  the  darkness,  suddenly  seemed  empty  to 
her,  a  desert  in  very  truth,  and  thereby  to  resemble  her 
own  heart.  And  softly,  silently,  she  began  to  weep, — 
whereupon  one  of  the  great  farm  dogs,  her  favorite, 
who  had  been  seeking  her  in  every  direction,  came  up 
to  her  and  licked  her  hand  as  it  hung  at  her  side. 

And  down  yonder,  far  down  above  the  dark  line  of 
the  sea,  Renaud,  meanwhile,  fancied  that  he  saw  a 
naked  woman's  form  emerge  from  the  water,  and  await 
his  coming,  suspended  in  mid-air,  or  standing  on  the 
surface  of  the  waves. 

"Livette!  Livette!  " 

It  was  the  grandmother's  voice  calling. 

They  went  down  without  exchanging  a  word. 

"Good-night,  Monsieur  Jacques,"  said  the  maiden. 

"Good-night,  mademoiselle,"  Renaud  replied. 

So  they  called  each  other  monsieur  and  mademoiselle 
that  night,  and,  a  moment  after  they  had  parted,  Renaud 
took  his  horse  from  the  stable  in  perfect  silence,  and 
rode  away. 


ari)aptcr  X 


With  hearts  as  sad  as  the   hell,   they  leaned  on   the 
stone  parapet  in  presence  of  the  night. 


mA  king  of  CAMARGI  ' 

iitue  Detrothed  wouiu  na\e  njui;  •  mistress  of  his 

JJut  there  w  '  man}  cs  uetweexi  j^iveuc 

and  Renaud  ;    ct....  ^s  he  st  ;  virtuously  to  keep 

away  from  her,  ins  thoughts  ..^  w  oif  to  the  other. 
And  Livette  was  alreo  '  ^scions  ot  the  heartache 

1  lover.  Ai.  lac  broad  expanse  of  level 
country  that  iier  eyes  knew  so  well,  and  that  she  felt 
about  her  in  the  dar'  suddenly  seemed  empty  to 

her,  a  desert  in  very  turn,  and  thereby  to  resemble  her 
own  heart.  And  sofilr.  silently,  she  began  to  weep, — 
whereui-on  on«r  oi^L„^jc*Mt  farm  dogs,  her  favorite, 
who  had  been  sei  "r  in  every  direction,  came  up 

to  her  and  licked  iicr  iiaud  as  it  hung  at  her  side. 
.  And  do>ij^  .vondef.  ':■■■■  dq\yn  iibQve^UiOt.tJvii{k  line  of 
the   sea,  iRenaud,   rat    vvvliile,    Uioried    that   he   saw   a 
,  m  s  form  from  the  water,  and  await 

.  suspended   m  mid-air,  or  standing  on  the 
waves. 
"  Lr  livette' 

It  was  the  grand  ^oice  calling. 

T  ^changing  a  word. 

<d-night,  Monsieur  lacques,"  said  the  maiden. 
''Good-night,  inadem^  '  Renaud  replied. 

ey  called  f.>h  other  ur  and  mademoiselle 

ht,  and,  a  moment  af:  .  had  parted,  Renaud 

orse  f'ro.ri  the  st;i  perfect  silence,  and 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  97 

His  heart  did  not  tell  him  that  Livette,  at  her  window, 
watched  him  depart,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  Where  is  he  going?  " 

She  followed  for  a  moment  with  her  glance  the  lumi- 
nous point  (the  reflection  of  a  star  upon  the  head  of  the 
drover's  spear)  dancing  about  in  the  darkness  among 
the  trees  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp, — and  when  that  spark 
went  out,  she  no  longer  saw  the  stars. 


XI 


THE   HIDING-PLACE 

Whither  he  was  going  he  had  no  idea.  He  rode  at 
random  under  the  spur  of  the  energy  that  was  rampant 
within  him,  demanding  to  be  expended. 

Love  guided  him  as  he  himself  guided  his  horse.  He 
was  the  rider  of  his  own  steed,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
accursed  steed  of  the  passion  that  impelled  him,  spurred 
him  on,  shouted  to  him:  "Forward!"  guided  this 
way  and  that,  without  purpose,  his  mad  race  across 
the  moor.  He,  too,  was  mounted,  harassed,  bridled, 
whipped,  bit  in  mouth,  raging  and  powerless.  And  the 
horse  shared  the  mad  humor  of  his  master,  who  was 
under  the  spell  of  love,  so  that  Blanchet,  wearied 
though  he  was  by  his  day's  labor,  having  had  but  a  very 
brief  rest,  was  wild  with  excitement  none  the  less.  For- 
tunately, he  knew  all  the  ditches  and  canals  and  bogs, 
and,  in  his  rapid  flight  with  the  reins  lying  on  his  neck, 
he  chose  his  own  road.  Sometimes  he  would  slacken 
his  pace  on  approaching  a  ditch,  in  order  to  walk  down 

into  it,  head  first,  compelling  his  rider  to  stand  in  his 

99 


loo  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

great  stirrups,  with  his  back  touching  the  croup  :  some- 
times he  leaped  them  at  full  speed. 

Drunken,  bareheaded, — his  hat  having  blown  away 
somewhere  in  the  darkness, — the  wind  whistling  through 
his  hair,  Renaud  rode,  for  the  sake  of  riding,  because 
the  violence  of  his  pace  corresponded  to  the  violence 
of  the  passions  that  were  raging  within  him.  He  tore 
along  as  a  beast  does  in  the  rutting  season,  from  its  mad 
desire  to  be  alone. 

And  he  said  to  himself  that  it  was  abominable  to 
think  of  the  other,  when  he  had  for  his  own  that  flower 
of  beauty,  chastity  and  sweetness  ;  but  he  was  thirsting 
for  something  very  different ;  and  he  was  conscious 
of  an  intensely  bitter  taste  in  his  mouth,  a  clinging, 
dry  saliva,  a  moisture  that  made  his  thirst  the  more 
unbearable. 

Powerless  to  devise  a  means  of  escape  from  all  the 
evil  impulses  in  his  heart,  he  rode  on  confessing  to  two 
longings :  either  to  meet  Rampal  and  take  vengeance 
upon  him  for  everything,  or  else  to  fall  over  backward 
into  a  ditch  and  rise  no  more,  thus  giving  a  different 
turn  to  his  evil  destiny ; — and  a  third  longing  which  he 
did  not  admit  even  to  himself:  to  meet  the  gipsy  at 
day-break,  begging  at  the  door  of  some  farm. — And 
then  ? — He  did  not  know  ! 

Suddenly  he  thought  that  he  heard  a  beating  of  hoofs 
behind  him,  the  echo  of  his  own  gallop ;  he  turned  and 
saw — he  saw  in  very  truth  ! — pursuing  him  at  full  speed, 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  loi 

the  naked  gipsy,  sitting  firmly  astride  her  saddle,  man- 
fashion,  upon  a  shadowy  horse  whose  feet  did  not  touch 
the  ground. 

She  flew  through  the  air,  laughing  in  mockery  as  she 
cried  to  him  : 

"Stop,  coward!" 

He  said  to  himself  that  it  was  not  real,  but  he  did  not 
say  to  himself  that  it  was  a  vision  ;  he  thought :  "  It  is 
witchcraft !  "  and  fear  seized  upon  him,  fear  as  powerful 
as  his  desire,  and  he  fled  from  the  image  of  her  he  sought. 

He  turned  to  look  no  more ;  he  fled.  He  heard  the 
double  gallop  still :  his  own  and  the  other's.  He  rode 
through  the  transparent  mist  that  hovered  over  the  damp, 
salt  sand ;  and  as  he  cut  through  those  crawling  clouds 
it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  were  riding  through  the  sky, 
above  the  higher  clouds.  In  very  truth,  his  brain  was 
wandering,  for  love  will  be  obeyed,  and  his  youthful 
passion  was  like  insanity. 

Suddenly  Blanchet's  four  legs,  as  he  flew  over  the 
ground,  became  motionless  and  rigid  as  stakes,  and  his 
shoeless  feet  began  to  slide  over  an  absolutely  smooth 
surface  of  clay,  hard  as  iron  and  as  slippery  as  if  it  had 
been  soaped.  Swiftly  the  horse  slid  along,  digging  fur- 
rows with  his  hoofs  upon  the  polished  surface,  and  when 
he  lost  his  acquired  momentum,  he  stopped,  tried  to 
resume  his  former  pace,  raised  one  foot  and  fell  heavily 
to  the  ground,  exhausted,  his  mouth  and  nostrils  breath- 
ing despair. 


I02  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

In  an  instant,  Renaud,  leaning  on  his  spear,  which  he 
had  not  let  go,  stood  at  his  horse's  head,  struggling  to 
lift  him  up,  and  encouraging  him  with  his  voice.  Blan- 
chet,  supported  by  the  rein  in  his  master's  hand,  regained 
his  feet  after  two  fruitless  slides. 

Renaud  looked  about :  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen 
save  darkness,  the  desert,  the  stars, — tatters  of  pallid 
mist  that  strayed  hither  and  thither,  as  if  clinging  to 
a  bush,  a  tamarisk,  a  clump  of  rushes, — and  assumed, 
from  time  to  time,  the  shape  of  fantastic  animals. 

Renaud  mounted  Blanchet  once  more,  but  he  was 
moved  to  pity  for  him.  And  the  horse,  sometimes  let- 
ting himself  slide  upon  his  shoeless  feet,  his  four  legs 
perfectly  stiff,  sometimes  putting  one  foot  before  the 
other,  testing  the  ground,  which  was  firm  and  hard 
beneath  his  weight,  but  soft  beneath  his  sharp,  scaly 
hoof,  carried  him  at  last  away  from  the  clayey  tract. 

Pity  and  remorse  at  once  were  awakened  in  Renaud's 
heart  by  Livette's  horse. 

What  right  had  he,  the  drover,  to  ruin  the  favorite 
steed  of  his  darling  fiancee  in  the  service  of  his  passion 
for  a  witch  ? 

So  Renaud  dismounted,  removed  Blanchet's  saddle 
and  bridle,  and  said  to  him  :  "  Go  !  do  what  you  will." 
Then  he  cut  a  bundle  of  reeds  with  which  he  made  him- 
self a  bed,  and  lay  upon  his  back,  with  his  saddle  under 
his  head  and  a  handkerchief  over  his  face,  waiting  for 
dawn. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  103 

He  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep,  during  which  his  trouble 
swelled  and  burst  within  him,  forced  its  way  out,  and 
took  on  form  and  feature. — The  same  vision  constantly 
returned. 

When  he  awoke,  two  hours  later,  he  found  his  cheeks 
wet  with  tears  and  his  hands  over  his  face.  Then  he 
took  pity  upon  himself,  and,  having  begun  to  weep  in 
his  dream,  he  let  the  tears  flow  freely  that  he  would 
have  forced  back  had  they  sought  an  outlet  on  the 
previous  day. 

He  deemed  himself  a  miserable  wretch,  and  wept  over 
his  fate,  at  first  madly,  convulsively,  and  then  with  joy, 
as  if,  in  weeping,  he  had  poured  out  all  his  sorrow  for- 
ever. He  wept  to  think  that  he  was  caught,  powerless, 
between  two  contrary,  irreconcilable  things :  that  he 
wished  for  the  one,  and  thirsted,  against  his  will,  for  the 
other.  He  beat  his  hands  upon  the  ground  ;  he  tore  his 
cravat,  which  strangled  him ;  he  ground  the  reeds  with 
his  teeth,  and  cried  aloud  like  a  child, — he,  an  orphan  : 

"O  God!   my  mother!  " 

And  he  would  have  wept  on  for  a  long  while,  perhaps, 
and  emptied  the  springs  of  bitterness  in  his  heart,  had  he 
not  suddenly  felt  a  warm  caress — two  soft,  warm,  moist 
caresses  upon  his  cheek,  his  forehead,  his  closed  eyes. 

He  half  opened  his  eyelids  and  saw  Blanchet  standing 
beside  him,  touching  his  face  with  his  pendant  lip  as  he 
used  to  touch  Livette's  hand  when  in  search  of  a  bit  of 
sugar. 


I04  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Another  animal  had  imitated  Blanchet ;  it  was  the 
donda'ire,  Le  Doux,  the  drover's  favorite,  the  leader  of 
his  drove  of  wild  bulls  and  cows,  whose  bell  he  had  not 
heard,  but  who  had  recognized  his  master. 

The  compassion  of  these  two  dumb  animals  aggravated 
Renaud's  bitter  grief  at  first.  Like  children,  who  begin 
to  howl  as  soon  as  you  sympathize  with  them,  he,  when  he 
found  he  was  so  wretched  as  to  arouse  the  pity  of  beasts, 
cried  aloud  in  his  heart,  but  stifled  the  cry  at  his  throat ; 
then,  touched  at  the  sight  of  their  kindly  faces,  and  dis- 
tracted thereby  from  his  own  thoughts,  he  became  sud- 
denly calm,  sat  up,  put  out  his  hand  toward  the  muzzles 
of  the  powerful  yet  docile  creatures,  and  spoke  to  them  : 

"  Good  fellows,  good  fellows !  oh  !  yes,  good  fellows !  " 

Day  began  to  break.  And  the  great  black  bull  and 
the  white  horse,  both,  as  if  in  answer  to  the  man  and  in 
answer  likewise  to  the  first  gleam  of  returning  day, 
which  sent  a  thrill  of  delight  over  all  the  plain,  stretched 
out  their  necks  toward  the  east ;  and  the  neighing  of  the 
horse  arose,  loud  and  shrill  as  a  flourish  of  tnmipets, 
sustained  by  the  bass  of  the  bull's  bellowing. 

Instantly  a  chorus  of  neighs  and  bellows  arose  on  all 
sides  of  Renaud.  His  free  drove  had  passed  the  night 
in  the  neighborhood.  He  was  surrounded  by  the 
familiar  forms  of  his  own  beasts. 

They  came  at  the  call  of  Blanchet  and  Le  Doux  and 
the  drover's  voice.  The  mares  were  white  as  salt. 
Some  of  them  came  trotting  up,  some  galloping,  some 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  105 

followed  by  their  foals  ;  and  passed  their  heads  between 
the  reeds,  peered  curiously  in,  and  stood  there, — or  else, 
with  a  cunning  air,  set  off  again,  as  who  should  say  : 
"There's  the  tamer,  let  us  be  off !  "  And  there  was  a 
great  kicking  and  flinging  of  heels  away  from  the  man's 
side. 

Some  bulls,  thin,  nervous  black  fellows,  whipping 
their  sides  with  their  long  tails,  also  came  up,  took 
alarm,  remembering  that  they  had  been  punished  for 
some  shortcoming,  and,  turning  tail,  decamped  in  the 
same  way,  and  when  they  were  out  of  sight,  suddenly 
stopped. 

But  as  the  donda'ire  remained  there,  ^^vi  of  the  horses 
and  cattle  left  the  spot. 

Some,  the  oldest  or  the  wisest,  slowly  assumed  a  kneel- 
ing posture,  as  if  to  resume  their  interrupted  repose, 
then,  scenting  the  approaching  sun,  wound  their  tongues 
about  the  tufts  of  salt  grass,  drew  them  into  their  mouths 
and  chewed  placidly,  while  the  silvery  foam  fell  from 
their  muzzles. 

Others,  in  the  same  posture,  lazily  licked  their  sides. 
A  mother,  nursing  her  calf,  watched  him  with  a  calm, 
gentle  eye. 

Here  a  stallion  drew  near  a  mare,  reached  her  side  in 
two  bounds,  with  tail  in  air  and  bristling  mane,  and 
bold,  sonorous,  trumpet-like  call — then  reared,  and  when 
the  mare  leaped  aside,  bit  at  her  and  with  a  sudden 
sidewise  movement  dodged  the  kick  she  aimed  at  him. 


io6  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

More  than  one  bull,  too,  paid  court  to  the  other  sex, 
rose  clumsily  on  his  hind  legs,  only  to  fall  again  on  his 
four  feet,  with  nothing  beneath  him. 

The  awakening  of  the  drove  was  not  complete.  The 
animals  Avere  still  dull  and  heavy.  They  were  awaiting 
the  coming  of  the  sun. 

Renaud  approached  a  half-broken  stallion  he  had 
sometimes  ridden,  and  threw  over  his  neck  the  seden  he 
had  just  coiled  for  that  purpose — Livette's  seden  and 
Blanchet's,  all  stained  with  mud  from  having  brought  so 
many  beasts  to  earth. 

He  gave  sugar  to  the  wild  creature,  who  allowed  him- 
self to  be  saddled  without  overmuch  resistance,  desir- 
ous, perhaps,  to  enjoy  for  a  day  the  abundant  supply 
of  hay  in  the  stables  of  the  chateau,  which  he  had  not 
forgotten. 

"  Go  and  rest,  old  fellow  !  "  said  Renaud  to  Blanchet. 

And  he  set  off  on  his  fresh  steed,  spear  in  hand,  with 
the  idea  of  seeking  Rampal. 

The  stallion  he  rode  was  his  favorite,  the  one  he  had 
named  Prince.  And  he  felt  a  thrill  of  honest  satisfaction 
as  he  said  to  himself  that  at  all  events  Livette's  horse 
would  not  have  to  put  up  with  his  whims  and  follies 
as  a  lover  any  more.  He  felt  highly  pleased  at  that 
thought,  being  lightened  of  a  threefold  responsibiUty,  as 
rider,  drover,  and  lover. 

Prince  seemed  disappointed  when  Renaud  compelled 
him  to  turn  his  back  on  the  Chateau  d' Avignon. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  107 

He  rode  in  the  direction  of  the  cabin  mentioned  by 
Audiffret.  It  was  very  possible,  after  all,  that  Rampal 
had  taken  up  his  quarters  there,  and  he  proposed  to  find 
out.  Now,  as  this  cabin  was,  as  we  have  seen,  not  in 
Caniargue,  but  in  Crau,  not  far  from  the  Icard  farm,  be- 
tween nine  and  ten  leagues  to  the  eastward,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  cross  the  main  stream  of  the  Rhone.  But,  in  that 
vast  plain,  men  rode  long  distances  forajrs  or  a  no,  and 
thirty  or  forty  kilometres  had  no  terrors  for  Renaud. 

From  his  present  position,  it  seemed  to  him  that  his 
shortest  road  would  be  to  skirt  the  southern  shore  of  the 
Vaccares. 

The  cool,  fresh  morning  air  drove  away  all  his  black 
thoughts,  his  visions  and  nightmares ;  he  felt  something 
like  tranquillity.  Moreover,  he  was  so  overdone  with 
weariness  that  he  seemed  half-asleep,  and  the  feeling 
was  delicious.  He  no  longer  had  the  strength  to  follow 
his  thoughts,  still  less  to  guide  them,  so  that  he  was  sub- 
missive as  a  blade  of  grass,  as  any  inanimate  thing,  to 
the  passing  breeze,  to  the  sun's  rays. 

The  hour  and  the  coloring  of  the  earth  and  sky  were 
in  very  truth  enough  to  rejoice  the  heart,  and  physical 
gaiety  took  possession  of  him,  as  he  had  ceased  to 
reflect. 

A  fresh  breeze,  smelling  of  the  sea,  sent  a  shiver  over 
the  water  and  the  grass.  The  sun  was  rising.  A  mo- 
ment more  and  he  would  appear  to  cast  his  net  of  gold 
horizontally  over  the  plain.     He  appeared.     The  vague 


io8  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

murmurs  became  distinct  sounds ;  reflection  changed  to 
brilliant  light,  drowsiness  to  activity. 

Renaud,  who  was  galloping  along  with  his  spear  resting 
in  his  stirrup,  his  head  leaning  heavily  on  the  arm  that 
held  it  and  his  eyes  closed,  under  the  influence  of  the 
rocking  motion  of  the  horse,  suddenly  reopened  them, 
and  looked  about  with  the  joyous  glance  of  a  king. 

He  paused  a  moment  to  gaze  at  a  huge  plough  drawn 
by  several  horses,  which  was  transforming  a  wretched 
stony  field  into  cleared  land  ready  for  the  vine. 

The  phylloxera,  which  has  done  so  much  harm  in  rich 
and  healthy  districts,  affords  Camargue  a  new  oppor- 
tunity to  fight  the  fever  and  to  gain  ground  on  the 
swamp.  The  sand  is,  in  fact,  very  favorable  to  the  vine 
and  very  unfavorable  to  the  parasitic  insect,  and  this 
watery  country  will  gradually  become,  please  God,  a 
genuine  land  of  the  vine  ! 

Renaud  watched  the  ploughman  with  a  feeling  of 
delight  at  the  thought  of  his  native  country  being 
enriched  by  honest  toil ;  and  with  a  confused  feeling 
of  regret,  too,  for  he  preferred  that  the  moor  should 
remain  uncultivated  and  wild  and  free.  The  idea  of  a 
flat  plain,  tilled  from  end  to  end,  where  no  room  was 
left  for  the  straying  feet  of  horses  as  God  made  them — 
that  idea  saddened  him. 

He  would  always  say  to  himself  as  he  rode  through 
more  civilized  regions:  "Now  there,  you  know,  a  man 
can  neither  live  nor  die. " 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  109 

The  fields  of  wheat  or  oats,  even  in  the  summer 
season  when  they  have  such  a  lovely  reddish  tinge,  so 
like  the  overheated  earth,  so  like  the  turbid,  gleaming 
waters  of  the  Rhone,  had  no  attraction  for  him.  They 
gave  him  the  impression  of  an  obstacle  that  he  must 
ride  his  horse  around,  and  Renaud  did  not  recognize 
the  respectability  of  any  obstacle — except  the  sea  ! 

He  was  more  inclined  to  look  favorably  upon  the 
vine,  because  it  seemed  to  him  that  it  was  a  glorious 
thing  for  his  country  to  produce  wine,  just  at  the  time 
when  other  districts  in  France  had  exhausted  their  pro- 
ducing power.  And  then,  the  Rhone,  the  7?iistral, 
horses,  bulls,  and  wine,  all  seemed  to  him  to  go  to- 
gether, as  things  that  told  of  holiday-making,  of  manly 
strength  and  courage  and  joy.  They  knew  how  to 
drink,  never  fear,  did  the  men  of  Saint-Gilles  and  Aries 
and  Avignon.  Renaud  had  attended  wedding-parties 
more  than  once  on  the  island  of  Barthelasse  in  the 
middle  of  the  Rhone,  opposite  Avignon,  and  there  he 
had  tasted  a  red  wine  whose  color  he  could  still  see.  It 
was  an  old  Rhone  wine,  so  they  had  told  him,  and  he 
remembered  that,  being  desirous  to  do  honor  to  the 
wine  as  well  as  to  the  bride,  and  being  a  little  ex- 
hilarated, he  had  solemnly  thrown  his  cup  into  the 
Rhone  after  the  last  bumper.  There  are,  at  the  bottom 
of  the  Rhone,  many  such  cups,  dead  but  not  broken, 
from  which  joy  was  quaffed  but  yesterday.  They  go 
gently  down,  turning  over  and  over,  through  the  water 


no  KING  OF  CAM  ARGUE 

to  its  sandy  bed.  There  they  sleep,  covered  with  sand, 
and  two  or  three  thousand  years  hence — who  knows? — 
the  venerable  scholars  of  that  day  will  discover  them,  as 
they  are  discovering  amphorae  of  baked  earth  at  Trin- 
quetaille  to-day,  and  now  and  then  beside  them  a  glass 
urn,  wherein  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow  chase  one 
another  about  as  soon  as  its  robe  of  dust  is  removed. 

Who  can  say  that  Renaud's  brittle  glass,  from  which 
he  drank  the  best  wine  of  his  youth,  will  not  remain  for 
ages  full  of  the  sand  and  water  of  the  Rhone,  and  that — 
in  days  to  come — other  youths  will  not  find  therein  the 
same  delight  ?     For  everything  begins  anew. 

Thus  did  the  wanderer's  thoughts  wander  from  point 
to  point,  from  vine  to  glass.  Ah !  that  glass  of  his, 
thrown  into  the  Rhone !  His  mind  recurred  once  more 
to  that  memory  of  a  debauch.  It  seemed  to  him  now, 
that,  by  throwing  it  into  the  river  on  the  wedding-day, 
he  had  foretold  his  own  destiny,  and  that  he,  Livette's 
fiance,  would  never  be  married !  He  would  drink  no 
more  from  the  discarded  glass. 

The  first  impulse  of  delight  that  came  to  him  with 
the  newness  of  the  morning  had  already  passed ;  his 
sadness  had  returned  as  the  day  lost  the  charm  that 
attaches  to  a  thing  just  beginning. 

Dreaming  thus,  Renaud  rode  across  the  marshes, 
Prince  splashing  through  the  water  up  to  his  thighs. 

Yes,  my  friends,  he  forgave  the  vine,  did  Renaud,  for 
invading  Camargue. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  m 

Moveover,  after  the  harvest  was  gathered,  did  not  the 
red  and  white  vineyards  afford  excellent  pasturage  for 
the  bulls?  There  are  some  that  are  all  red  in  the 
autumn,  and  others  all  white,  or  of  a  light  golden 
yellow — as  if  the  vines  had  amused  themselves  by  re- 
producing the  two  colors  of  the  wine  under  the  gorgeous 
sunsets.  He  has  seen  nothing  who  has  not  seen  the 
beams  of  the  setting  sun,  in  November,  now  yelloAv  as 
gold,  now  red  as  blood,  spreading  over  a  field  of  red 
vines,  over  a  field  of  yellow  vines,  which  themselves 
spread  out  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach.  Indeed,  is  not 
Camargue  the  home  of  the  lambrusque  ?  The  lam- 
brusque  is  the  wild,  Camarguese  vine,  different  from 
our  cultivated  vines  in  that  the  male  and  female  are  on 
separate  plants.  The  grapes  that  grow  on  the  female 
lajfibrusque  make  a  somewhat  tart  but  pleasant  wine, 
and  the  shoots  of  the  vine  make  light,  stout  staves  for 
the  hand. 

Arrived  at  Grand  Patis,  Renaud  swam  the  Rhone 
three  times,  from  Camargue  to  He  Mouton,  from  He 
Mouton  to  He  Saint-Pierre,  and  from  He  Saint-Pierre 
to  the  mainland. 

He  was  now  in  the  swamps  of  Crau,  a  stony  desert 
adjoining  Camargue,  which  is  a  desert  of  mud. 

To  the  eye  these  two  deserts  seem  to  join  hands 
across  the  Rhone.  From  Aigues-Mortes  to  the  pond 
of  Berre  is  a  pretty  stretch  of  flat  country,  my  friends, 
and  the  sea-eagle,  try  as  he  may,  cannot  make  it  less 


112  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

than  twenty  good  leagues  in  a  straight  line  !  And  that 
is  the  kingdom  of  King  Renaud. 

Camargue  has  its  saltwort,  its  grain  and  plantains  and 
burdocks,  growing  in  small  clumps,  with  sandy  intervals 
between  ;  it  has  its  gapillons,  which  are  green  rushes 
split  into  bouquets,  with  thousands  of  sharp  points  finer 
than  needles ;  and  here  and  there  tamarisk-trees ;  and, 
on  the  banks  of  the  two  Rhones,  great  elms,  so  often 
cut  and  hacked  to  procure  wood  to  burn,  that  they 
resemble  huge  caterpillars  sitting  erect  upon  their  tails, 
their  short  hair  bristling  as  if  in  anger. 

Crau  is  a  land  of  naked  plains  and  heather.  It  is,  to 
tell  the  truth,  a  veritable  field  of  stones.  They  have 
come,  people  say,  from  Mont  Blanc,  all  the  stones  that 
now  lie  sleeping  there.  The  Rhone  and  the  Durance 
have  borne  them  down,  then  changed  their  beds,  after 
having  jousted  together  on  the  vast  space  at  the  foot 
of  the  little  Alps.  From  beneath  the  stones  of  Crau, 
in  May,  there  springs  a  rare,  delicate  plant,  Xht  paturin, 
or  dog's  tooth.  The  sheep  push  the  stone  away  with 
their  noses  and  browse  upon  the  slender  stalks  while  the 
shepherd  stands  and  dreams  in  the  wind  and  sun. 

But  this  stony  Crau  is  farther  away,  beyond  the  pond 
of  Ligagnou,  which  skirts  the  river.  Here,  in  the  Crau 
that  lies  along  the  banks  of  the  Rhone,  we  are  in  the 
midst  of  the  marshes,  which  are  dry  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  year ;  some  of  them,  however,  are  very 
treacherous,  and  one  should  know  them  well. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  113 

Renaud  rode  in  a  northeasterly  direction,  and  soon 
reached  the  neighborhood  of  the  Icard  farm. 

He  drew  rein. 

"Where  is  the  hiding-place?"  he  muttered. 

And  he  tried  with  all  his  eyes  to  pierce  the  thick 
underbrush  of  reeds,  rushes,  cat-tails,  sedges,  and  bull- 
rushes,  springing  from  the  midst  of  a  deep  bog.  This 
bog  did  not  seem,  to  the  eye,  more  formidable  than 
another,  but  the  bulls  and  mares  feared  it  and  carefully 
avoided  it. 

On  the  surface  of  the  water  was  what  looked  like  a 
thick  crust  of  mouldy  verdure.  It  was  not,  however, 
the  leprous  formation  of  duck-weed  that  lies  sleeping 
on  our  stagnant  ponds.  It  was  a  sort  of  felt-like  sub- 
stance, composed  of  dead  rushes,  roots,  twined  and 
twisted  weeds,  which  made  a  solid  but  movajjle  crust 
upon  the  water,  swaying  beneath  the  feet  that  ventured 
upon  it,  ready  to  bear  their  weight  for  a  moinent  and 
ready  to  give  way  beneath  them. 

This  crust  (the  transta'iere)  was  broken  with  fissures 
here  and  there,  through  which  the  water  could  be  seen, 
dark  as  night,  its  surface  flecked  with  transient  specks 
of  light,  gleaming  like  a  mirror  of  black  glass.  Around 
the  edges,  at  the  foot  of  the  scattered  tamarisks,  grew 
reeds  innumerable  in  thick  clusters,  always  rustling 
against  one  another,  and  incessantly  brushed,  with  a 
noise  like  rustling  paper,  by  the  slender  wings  of  the 
dragon-flies  with  their  monster-like  heads. 


114  ^^^^  OF  CAM  ARGUE 

Many  of  these  catieous  bear  white  flowers  streaked 
with  purple.  As  they  rise  above  one  another  on  the 
long  stalks,  you  would  take  them  for  the  flowers  of  a 
tall  marsh-mallow.  These  reeds,  with  their  long  leaves, 
remind  one  of  the  thyrsi  of  antiquity,  left  standing 
there  in  the  damp  earth  by  bacchantes  who  have  gone 
to  rest  somewhere  near  at  hand  in  the  shade  of  the  tam- 
arisks, or  to  abandon  themselves  to  the  centaurs.  They 
make  one  think,  also,  of  the  wand  of  the  fable,  which, 
when  planted  in  the  ground,  was  at  once  covered  with 
flowers,  and  thereby  had  power  over  marriages. 

These  thyrsi  of  the  bog  are  reeds  besieged  by  climb- 
ing plants.  The  convolvulus  fastens  itself  to  the  reed, 
twines  its  arms  about  it,  rises  in  a  spiral  course,  seeks 
the  sunlight  at  its  summit,  and  robes  the  long  murmur- 
ing stalk  in  brilliant  and  harmonious  colors. 

The  sharp  leaves  of  the  young  reeds  stand  erect  like 
lance-heads.  The  older  ones  break  off  and  fall  at  right 
angles.  The  delicate,  graceful  foliage  of  the  tamarisks 
is  like  a  transparent  cloud,  and  their  little  pink  flowers, 
hanging  in  clusters  that  are  too  heavy  for  the  branches, 
especially  before  they  open,  cause  the  flexible  plumes 
of  the  gracefully  rounded  tree-top  to  bend  in  every 
direction. 

Through  the  reeds  and  tamarisks  Renaud  sought  to 
discover  the  hut  that  he  knew,  and  that  Audiffret  had 
spoken  of  to  him  the  night  before.  But  he  could  hardly 
distinguish  the  little  inclined  cross  placed  at  the  highest 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  115 

point  of  the  roof  of  all  the  Camargue  cabins,  which  are 
built  of  joists,  boards,  grayish  mud  {tape),  and  straw. 
The  cabin  was  formerly  entirely  visible  from  the  spot 
where  he  stood,  but  the  reeds  had  grown  so  thickly  on 
the  islet  on  which  it  was  built,  that  they  completely  hid 
it.  The  path  leading  to  it  was  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  bog.  He  must  make  a  wide  detour  in  order  to  reach 
it,  the  bog  de  la  Cabane,  so  called,  being  of  a  very 
erratic  shape. 

From  the  south  side  of  the  cabin  he  went  around  to 
the  north  side.  He  no  longer  had  the  transta'iere  in 
front  of  him  ;  but  beneath  the  surface  of  the  water,  where 
reeds  and  thorn-broom  flourish,  was  the  gargaie,  the 
slime,  wherein  he  who  steps  foot  is  quickly  buried. 

There  are  many  other  dangers  in  these  accursed  bogs. 
There  are  the  lorons,  a  sort  of  bottomless  well  found 
here  and  there  under  the  water,  the  location  of  which 
must  be  thoroughly  understood.  The  mares  and  heifers 
know  them  and  are  clever  in  avoiding  them,  but  now 
and  then  one  of  them  falls  in,  and  now  and  then  a  man 
as  well.  And  he  who  falls  in  remains.  No  time  for 
argument,  my  man  !     You  are  in — adieu  ! 

The  drovers  will  tell  you,  and  it  is  the  truth,  that  from 
every  loron  comes  a  little  twisting  column  of  smoke,  by 
which  those  mouths  of  hell  can  be  located.  A  hundred 
lorons,  a  hundred  columns  of  smoke.  There,  my  friends, 
is  something  to  dream  about,  is  it  not,  when  the  malig- 
nant fever,  bred  in  the  swamps,  smites  you  on  the  hip? 


Ii6  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Renaud  was  anxious  to  know  if  Rampal  was  occupy- 
ing the  cabin,  but  not  to  attack  him  there,  for  it  is  a 
treacherous  spot.  "If  he  is  there,  he  will  come  out 
some  time  or  other.  I  will  wait  for  him  on  the  solid 
ground.     Ah  !  I  see  the  path  !  ' ' 

It  was  a  winding  path  hiding  under  a  sheet  of  shallow 
water.  The  bed  of  the  path  was  of  stones,  very  narrow 
but  very  firm,  the  right  edge  being  marked,  as  far  as  the 
cabin,  by  stakes  at  short  intervals,  just  on  a  level  with 
the  water. 

Renaud  dismounted,  and  looked  for  the  first  stake, 
holding  his  horse  by  the  rein.  Although  he  knew  its 
location,  it  took  him  some  time  to  find  it.  With  the  end 
of  his  spear  he  put  aside  the  grass,  and  when  he  dis- 
covered the  stake,  he  felt  for  the  solid  road  whose  width 
it  measured.  Bending  over,  he  gazed  long  and  very 
closely  at  the  grasses  and  the  reeds,  which  met  in  places 
above  the  concealed  pathway,  and  when  he  rose  he  was 
certain  that  it  had  not  been  used  for  some  time. 

He  was  not  mistaken.  In  truth,  Rampal  was  a  little 
suspicious  of  that  hiding-place,  which  was  too  well 
known,  he  thought,  and  to  which  he  could  easily  be 
traced.  He  often  slept  in  the  neighborhood,  ready  to 
take  refuge  in  the  cul-de-sac,  if  it  should  become  neces- 
sary, but  he  preferred,  meanwhile,  to  feel  at  liberty, 
with  plenty  of  open  space  about  him. 

Renaud  remounted  Prince,  and  crossed  the  Rhone 
again  an  hour  later. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  117 

That  night  he  lay  in  one  of  the  great  cabins  which 
serve  as  stables — wmter  j'asses — for  the  droves  of  mares, 
in  those  months  when  the  weather  is  so  bad  that  the 
bulls  can  find  no  pasturage  except  by  breaking  the  ice 
with  their  horns. 

The  next  day,  an  hour  before  noon,  he  saw  before 
him  the  church  of  Saintes-Maries  standing  out  like  a 
lofty  ship  against  the  blue  background  of  the  sea. 

Little  black  curlews  were  flying  hither  and  thither 
around  it,  mingled  with  a  flock  of  great  sea-gulls  with 
gracefully  rounded  wings. 

A  cart  was  moving  slowly  over  the  sandy  road. 

"Good-day,  Renaud." 

"Good-day,  Marius.     Where  are  you  going?" 

"To  carry  fish  to  Aries." 

Marius  raised  the  branches  which  apparently  made  up 
his  load,  but  which  were  simply  used  to  shade  a  dozen 
or  more  baskets  and  hampers.  Well  pleased  with  his 
freight,  he  put  aside  the  cloth  that  was  spread  over  his 
treasure  under  the  branches.  Baskets  and  hampers  were 
filled  to  the  brim  with  fish  taken  in  the  ponds  and  the 
sea.  There  were  mullet  and  bream,  still  alive,  animated 
prisms  with  mouths  and  gills  wide  open  like  bright  red 
marine  flowers  amid  a  mass  of  dark-blue,  olive-green, 
and  gleaming  gold.  There  were  enormous  eels,  too, 
caught  for  the  most  part  in  the  canals  of  Camargue, 
which  are  veritable  fish-preserves. 

The  dark-hued,  slippery  creatures  twisted  in  and  out, 


Ii8  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

tying  and  untying  endless  slip-knots  with  their  snake-like 
bodies.  By  the  livid  spots  upon  some  of  the  great  eels, 
Renaud  recognized  them  as  murancE,  possessors  of  vora- 
cious mouths,  well  stocked  with  sharp  teeth. 

"  See  how  they  all  keep  moving !  "  said  Marius. 

At  that  moment,  as  if  to  justify  his  words,  a  great  flat 
fish  flapped  out  of  one  of  the  baskets  and  fell  to  the 
ground. 

With  the  end  of  his  three-pronged  spear  the  mounted 
drover  nailed  him  to  the  earth  to  prevent  his  leaping 
into  the  ditch,  filled  with  water,  that  ran  along  the 
road. 

"  Hallo  !  "  said  he  in  surprise,  "  isn't  that  a  cramp- 
fish.  When  I  spear  one  of  them  with  my  regular  fish- 
spear,  which  is  longer  than  this  three-pronged  one,  it 
gives  me  a  shock  I  didn't  feel  at  all  to-day." 

"That's  because  the  fish  is  in  the  water  then,  and 
your  spear  is  damp,"  said  Marius,  laughing.  "But  let 
the  fellow  stay  there,"  he  added.  "He  isn't  worth 
much.     The  snakes  will  have  a  feast  on  him." 

Thereupon,  horseman  and  fisherman  went  their  re- 
spective ways. 

The  drover's  thoughts  wandered  from  the  cramp-fish 
and  the  murcetics  to  the  electric  fish  of  America,  of  which 
old  sailors  had  spoken  to  him.  They  had  told  him  that 
it  was  charged  with  electricity  like  the  cramp-fish,  but 
resembled  the  conger  more  in  shape,  and  that  it  could, 
with  its  overpowering  current,  kill  a  horse;  in  order  to 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  119 

make  it  exhaust  its  stock  of  electricity,  so  that  it  can 
safely  be  taken,  it  is  customary  to  send  wild  horses  into 
the  water  against  it;  they  receive  the  first  shock,  and 
sometimes  die  from  the  effects. 

As  he  rode  on  toward  Saintes-Maries,  Renaud  mused 
in  a  vague  way  upon  the  miracles  of  life,  which  there 
is  naught  to  explain. 


XII 


A   SORCERESS 

Livette  did  not  go  to  sleep.  When  Renaud  had 
passed  out  of  sight  in  the  darkness,  she  softly  closed 
her  windows,  and,  throwing  herself  on  the  bed  with  her 
face  buried  in  the  pillow,  wept  in  dismay. 

Meanwhile, — while  Livette  was  weeping  and  Renaud, 
bewitched,  was  galloping  over  the  moor,  fancying  that 
he  was  pursued  by  the  gipsy, — the  gipsy  herself  was 
asleep. 

The  two  beings  whose  lives  she  was  beginning  to 
destroy  were  already  suffering  a  thousand  deaths,  and 
she,  lying,  fully  dressed,  under  one  of  the  carts  of  her 
tribe,  in  their  regularly  pitched  camp  outside  the  village, 
was  sleeping  tranquilly,  her  pretty,  puzzling  face  smiling 
at  the  stars  of  that  lovely  May  night. 

When  Renaud  left  her,  at  sunset,  all  naked  on  the 
beach,  she  had  slowly  stretched  her  sun-burned  arras, 
taking  pleasure  in  the  sense  of  being  naked  in  the  open 
air,  of  feeling  the  caressing  breath  of  the  sea-breeze 

121 


122  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

that  dried  the  great  drops  of  water  rolling  down  her 
body.  Then,  still  slowly,  she  had  dressed  herself, — 
very  slowly,  in  order  to  postpone  as  long  as  possible 
the  renewed  subjection  to  the  annoyance  of  clothes,  in 
order  to  enjoy  unrestricted  freedom  of  movement,  like 
a  wild  beast. 

She  had  then  walked  along  the  beach,  leaving  the 
imprint  of  her  bare,  well-shaped  foot  in  the  sand,  cov- 
ered at  intervals  by  a  shallow  wave  that  gradually  washed 
away  the  mark. 

The  last  kiss  of  the  sea  upon  her  feet,  to  which  a  bit 
of  sparkling  sand  clung,  delighted  her.  She  laughed 
at  the  water,  played  with  it,  avoiding  it  sometimes  with 
a  sudden  leap,  and  sometimes  going  forward  to  meet  it, 
teasing  it. 

She  fancied  that  she  could  see,  in  the  undulating  folds 
of  the  wavelets,  the  tame  snakes  which  she  sometimes 
charmed  with  the  notes  of  a  flute,  and  which  would 
thereupon  come  to  her  and  twine  about  her  arms  and 
neck,  and  which  were  at  that  moment  waiting  for  her, 
lying  on  their  bed  of  wool  at  the  bottom  of  their  box 
in  her  wagon. 

She  had  already  ceased  to  think  of  Renaud.  She 
was  always  swayed  by  the  dominating  thought  of  the 
moment,  never  feeling  regret  or  remorse  for  what  was 
past, — having  no  power  of  foresight,  except  by  flashes, 
at  such  times  as  passion  and  self-interest  bade  her  exert 
it.     Her  reflection  was  but  momentary,  by  fits  and  starts, 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  123 

SO  to  speak ;  and  her  depth,  her  power,  the  mystery  that 
surrounded  her,  were  due  to  her  having  no  heart,  and, 
consequently,  no  conscience. 

The  men  and  women  who  approached  her  might  hope 
or  fear  something  at  her  hands,  imagine  that  she  had 
determined  upon  this  or  that  course,  and  try  to  defeat 
her  plan  ;  but  she  never  had  any  plan,  which  fact  led 
them  astray  beforehand. 

She  routed  her  enemies  and  triumphed  over  them,  first 
of  all,  by  indifference;  and  then  she  would  abruptly  cast 
aside  her  indolence,  like  an  animal,  at  the  bidding  of  a 
passion  or  a  whim,  and  would  still  render  naught  every 
means  of  defence — her  attack,  her  decisions,  her  clever 
wiles,  being  always  spontaneous,  born  of  circumstances 
as  they  presented  themselves. 

No :  she  made  no  plans  beforehand,  in  cold  blood ; 
she  never  concocted  any  complicated  scheme ;  but  she 
could,  at  need,  invent  one  on  the  spur  of  the  moment 
and  carry  it  out  instantly,  at  a  breath, — or  perhaps  she 
would  begin  to  execute  it  in  frantic  haste,  and  abandon 
it  almost  immediately  from  sheer  ennui,  to  think  no  more 
of  it  until  the  day  that  some  burst  of  passion  should 
suddenly  bring  it  back  to  her  mind. 

She  was  like  a  spider  spinning  its  whole  web  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  to  catch  the  fly  on  the  wing;  or 
she  would  spin  the  first  thread  only,  and  forget  it  until 
something  happened   to  remind  her  to  spin  a  second. 

Thus  constituted,   she  was  at  the  same   time  better 


124  ^^^^  ^^  CAMARGUE 

and  worse  than  other  women,  because  she  was  more 
changeable  than  the  surface  of  the  water, — because  she 
was  of  the  color  of  the  moment. 

Being  a  fatalist,  the  gipsy  said  to  herself  that  whatever 
is  to  happen,  happens,  and  she  had  never  taken  the 
trouble  to  devise  a  scheme  of  revenge.  She  would 
simply  utter  a  threat,  knowing  well  that  the  terror 
inspired  by  a  prediction  is  the  first  calamity  that  pre- 
pares the  way  for  others,  by  disturbing  the  mind  and 
heart  and  judgment.  And  then,  something  always  goes 
wrong  in  the  course  of  a  year,  collaborating,  so  to 
speak,  with  the  sorcerer,  and  attributed  by  the  victim 
to  the  "evil  spell  "  cast  upon  him.  It  is  upon  him,  in 
reality,  because  he  believes  that  it  is.  In  short,  if  op- 
portunity offered,  she  would  assist  the  mischievous  pro- 
pensities of  fate,  with  a  word,  a  gesture,  a  trifle — and, 
if  opportunity  did  offer,  it  was  because  it  was  decreed 
long  ages  ago,  written  in  the  book  of  destiny  that  so 
it  should  be  ! 

A  true  creature  of  instinct,  the  gipsy  had  no  other 
secret  than  that  she  had  none. 

She  followed  her  imjnilses,  satisfied  her  desire  for 
revenge,  her  love  or  her  hate,  without  stopping  to  con- 
sider anything  or  anybody ;  and,  like  the  wild  beast, 
she,  a  human  being,  became  an  object  of  dread  to 
civilized  people,  as  nature  itself  is.  Such  creatures 
are  implacable.  The  gipsy  loved  life,  and  lived  as 
animals  live,  without  reflection.     It  was  the  paltry  yet 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  125 

profound  mystery  of  the  sphinx  repeated.  Her  ac- 
tions were  those  of  a  brute,  not  far  removed  from  the 
lower  types  of  mankind,  notwithstanding  her  lovely 
human  face,  in  which  the  eyes,  like  Pan's,  not  clear, 
seemed  veiled  with  falsehood  because  they  were  veiled 
to  their  own  sight  with  their  own  lack  of  knowledge, 
their  uncertainty  and  suspense.  Look  at  the  eyes  of  a 
goat  or  a  heifer.  They  are  as  deep  as  Bestiality,  cunning 
and  strong,  cowering  in  the  shadow  of  the  sacred  wood. 
Life  longs  to  live.  It  is  lying  in  ambush  there.  It  is 
sure  of  her  and  bides  its  time.  The  human  beast  not 
only  has  more  craft  than  the  fox  or  tiger,  but  has  the 
power  of  speech  as  well.  Nothing  is  more  horrible 
than  words  without  a  conscience. 

After  all,  Zinzara  was  always  sincere,  although  she 
never  appeared  so,  because  her  versatility  placed  her 
from  moment  to  moment  in  contradiction  with  herself. 

The  caress  and  the  wound  that  one  received  from  her 
in  rapid  succession  did  not  prove  that  she  had  feigned 
love  or  hate.  She  did,  in  fact,  love  and  hate  by  turns, 
from  moment  to  moment,  or  rather,  without  loving  or 
hating,  she  acted  in  accordance  with  her  own  fancy, 
sincere  in  her  contradictions — and  very  artlessly  withal. 

She  bore  some  resemblance  to  the  ape,  as  it  sits  among 
the  branches,  softly  rocking  its  little  one  in  its  arms  with 
an  almost  human  air,  then  suddenly  relaxes  its  hold  and 
lets  its  offspring  fall,  forgotten,  to  the  ground,  in  order 
to  pluck  a  fruit  that  hangs  near  by. 


126  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

She  was  a  personage  of  importance  in  her  own  eyes, 
and  she  saw  nobody  but  herself  at  all  times  and  under 
all  circumstances. 

The  gipsy  was  formidable,  as  a  spirit  concealed  in  an 
element  whose  slave  it  should  be.  She  had  the  force  of 
a  thunderbolt,  of  an  earthquake,  of  any  fatal  occurrence 
impossible  to  foresee  or  to  ward  off. 

The  viper  is  not  evil-minded.  He  does  not  prepare 
his  own  venom.  He  finds  it  all  prepared.  Disturb 
him,  and  he  bites  before  he  makes  up  his  mind  to 
do  it. 

Like  the  cramp-fish  or  the  electric  eel,  the  gipsy 
could  discharge  a  fatal  current  of  electricity  as  soon  as 
you  approached  her, — by  virtue  of  the  very  necessity  of 
existence.  It  might  happen  to  her  also  to  indulge  in 
the  sport  of  exerting  her  malignant  power  around  her, 
for  no  reason,  simply  to  watch  its  effects,  because  it  was 
her  day  and  her  hour,  her  whim. 

She  had  the  same  means  of  defence  and  amusement. 

It  was  not  in  her  nature  to  be  malignant.  It  simply 
was  not  necessary  for  her  to  think  of  you,  that  was  all. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  a  man  was  fortunate  if  she  did  not 
look  at  him. 

Although  born  of  a  race  that  holds  chastity  in  high 
esteem,  she  was  not  chaste ;  not  that  she  loved  debauch- 
ery above  everything  else,  but  she  used  it  as  a  means 
of  domination, — the  more  unfailing  because  she  made 
little  account  of  it.     Always  superior,  in  her  coldness, 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  127 

to  the  passion  she  inspired,  it  was  in  that  more  than 
all  else  that  she  really  felt  herself  a  queen,  a  sorceress — 
aye,  a  goddess,  by  favor  of  the  devil  !  The  caress  of 
the  water  in  which  she  bathed  afforded  her  more  pleasure 
than  it  afforded  others.  She  was  like  the  female  plant 
of  the  lambrusque,  which  is  fertilized  by  the  wind. 

Like  the  mares  of  Camargue,  that  often  assemble  on 
the  shore  to  breathe  the  fresh  sea  air, — when  she  opened 
her  lips  to  the  salty  breeze,  on  those  fine  May  evenings, 
she  was  happier  than  any  man's  kiss  could  make  her. 
The  wandering  spirit  of  her  race  breathed  upon  her  lips, 
in  the  air,  with  the  freedom  of  the  boundless  waste — a 
vague  hope,  vain  and  unending. 

Being  thus  constituted,  she  knew  that  she  exercised  a 
disturbing  influence  upon  others,  and  that  she  was  her- 
self protected  by  something  that  relieved  her  of  respon- 
sibility. That  thought  filled  her  with  pride.  There  was 
a  reflection  of  that  pride  in  her  smile.  There  was  also 
the  constant  remembrance  of  the  sensations  she  had 
experienced,  known  to  her  alone,  and  a  certain  number 
of  men,  who  knew  nothing  of  one  another. 

Their  ignorance,  which  was  her  work,  also  made  her 
smile.  And  that  smile  was  a  mixture  of  irony  and  con- 
tempt. She  knew  her  own  strength  and  their  weakness. 
So  she  was  always  smiling. 

With  no  other  policy  than  this,  she  reigned  over  her 
nomadic  tribe,  changing  her  favorite,  like  a  genuine 
queen,  as  chance  or  her  own  impulses  willed,  but  giving 


128  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

each  one  of  them  to  beheve  that  he  was  the  only  man 
she  had  ever  really  loved,  even  if  he  were  not  her  first 
lover. 

To  deceive  the  zingari — that  was  a  notable  triumph 
for  a  zingara  .' 

Among  the  fifteen  or  twenty  children  in  her  party, 
there  was  a  young  dauphin,  the  queen's  offspring;  but 
since  he  had  left  her  breast,  she  had  bestowed  no  more 
care  upon  him  than  the  bitch  bestows  upon  her  puppy 
some  day  to  become  her  mate. 

When  she  came  near  her  camping-ground,  excited  by 
her  recent  contact  with  the  waves  and  the  salt,  which, 
as  it  dried  upon  her,  pressed  against  her  soft,  velvety 
flesh,  the  gipsy,  tingling  with  warmth  in  every  vein, 
cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  one  of  the  male  members  of 
the  tribe,  a  young  man  with  a  bronzed  skin  and  thin, 
curly  beard. 

And,  in  the  darkness, — when  they  had  eaten  the  soup 
cooked  in  the  kettle  that  hung  from  three  stakes  in  the 
open  air, — the  zingaro  glided  to  the  zingara's  side. 

At  that  very  moment,  by  her  fault,  two  human  beings 
were  suffering  in  the  inmost  recesses  of  their  consciences, 
where  Livette  and  Renaud  were  gazing  at  each  other 
with  eyes  in  which  there  was  no  look  of  recognition. 

The  betrothed  lovers,  her  victims,  were  struggling 
under  the  evil  spell  cast  upon  them  by  her  glance,  at 
the  moment  that  that  glance  seemed  to  grow  tender  in 
response  to  that  with  which  her  lover  enveloped  her. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  129 

on  the  edge  of  the  ditch,  beneath  the  feeble  light  of 
the  stars. 

Renaud  at  that  moment  was  dreaming  that  he  had 
seen  the  naked  gipsy  again  and  triumphed  over  her, 
and  was  asking  himself,  at  the  memory  of  that  robust, 
youthful  form,  if  she  were  not  a  virgin,  even  though  a 
child  of  the  high-road ;  recalling  confusedly  a  strange, 
overpowering,  absolute  passion,  the  triumphal  posses- 
sion of  a  new  being,  a  heifer  hitherto  wild  and  vicious, 
even  to  the  bulls ;  of  a  mare  that  had  never  known  bit 
or  saddle,  and  had  maintained  a  rebellious  attitude  in 
presence  of  the  stallion. 

Renaud  was  dreaming  all  that,  but  Renaud  no  longer 
existed  for  Zinzara. 

Zinzara,  just  at  that  moment,  in  the  dew-drenched 
grass,  was  writhing  about  like  the  legendary  conger-eel, 
that  comes  out  of  the  sea  to  abandon  itself  to  the  laby- 
rinthine caresses  of  the  reptiles  on  the  shore. 

Two  days  Livette  waited,  wondering  what  was  taking 
place.  Weary  at  last  of  seeking  without  finding,  she 
set  out  for  Saintes-Maries  on  the  morning  of  the  third 
day. 

''There,"  she  thought,  "I  may,  perhaps,  hear  some 
news. ' ' 

Her  father  saddled  an  honest  old  horse  for  her  use. 

"You  must  go  to  Tonin  the  fisherman's  at  noon," 
said  he,  "  and  eat  your  bouille-abaisse.  Send  him  word, 
when  you  arrive,  with  a  good-day  from  me." 


130  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Livette,  as  she  rode  along,  looked  about  her  at  the 
peaceful  green  fields,  joyous  and  bright  in  the  light  that 
fell  from  the  sky  and  the  light  that  rose  on  all  sides 
from  the  water. 

The  gnats  danced  merrily  in  the  sunbeams.  When 
the  gnats  dance,  they  furnish  the  music  for  the  ball  with 
their  wings,  and  on  calm  days  there  is  a  sound  like  the 
strumming  of  a  guitar  on  the  golden  strings  of  light 
over  all  the  plain.  There  were  also  in  the  air  long, 
slender  threads, — the  "threads  of  the  Virgin,"  or  gos- 
samer,— come  from  no  one  knows  where,  which  waved 
gently  to  and  fro,  as  if  some  of  the  fragile  strings  of 
the  invisible  instrument  on  which  the  little  musicians 
of  the  air  perform,  being  broken,  had  become  visible, 
and  were  floating  away  at  the  pleasure  of  a  breath. 

It  may  be  that  those  threads  came  from  a  long  dis- 
tance. It  may  be  that  the  toiling  spiders  who  patiently 
spun  them  lived  in  the  forests  of  the  Moors,  in  Esterel. 
A  breath  of  air  had  taken  them  up  very  gently,  and  now 
they  were  on  their  travels. 

Livette  watched  them  floating  quietly  by,  and  thought 
of  a  tale  her  grandmother  had  told  her.  According  to 
the  grandmother,  the  threads  came  from  the  cloaks 
spread  to  the  wind  as  sails  by  the  three  holy  women. 
The  wind,  as  it  filled  them,  had  unravelled  them  a  little, 
very  carefully ;  and  the  slender  threads,  taken  long  ago 
from  the  woof  of  the  miraculous  cloaks,  hover  forever 
above  the  sands  of  Camargue,  where  stands  the  church 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  131 

of  the  holy  women. — Above  the  strand  they  hover  night 
and  day,  as  so  many  tokens  of  God's  blessing  ;  but  they 
are  rarely  visible,  and  if,  by  chance,  on  a  fine  day,  you 
do  see  them,  it  means  that  some  great  good  fortune  is 
in  store  for  you. 

In  the  transparent  azure  of  the  morning  sky  Livette's 
heart  clung  to  each  of  the  passing  threads ;  but  the  child 
tried  in  vain  to  acquire  confidence, — her  heart  was  too 
heavy  to  remain  long  attached  to  the  fleeting  things. 
She  was  afraid,  poor  child,  and  felt  influences  at  work 
against  her  that  she  could  not  see. 

Alas  !  while  the  golden  threads  floated  over  her  head, 
the  black  spider  was  weaving  his  web  somewhere  about, 
to  catch  her  like  a  fly. 

Still  musing,  Livette  rode  on,  and  could  distinguish 
at  last,  far  before  her,  the  swallows  and  martins  soaring 
above  the  steeple.  They  were  so  far  away  you  would 
have  said  they  were  swarms  of  gnats.  And  with  the  swal- 
lows and  martins  were  numberless  sea-mews.  This  host 
of  wings,  large  and  small,  now  dark  as  seen  from  below, 
now  bright  and  gleaming  as  seen  from  above,  turned  and 
twirled  and  gyrated  in  countless  intricate,  interlacing 
circles.  Instinct  with  the  spirit  of  the  spring-time  and 
the  morning,  they  were  frolicking  in  the  fresh,  clear  air. 

It  occurred  to  Livette  to  ride  by  the  public  spring  in 
quest  of  news,  for  it  was  the  hour  when  the  women  and 
maidens  of  Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer  go  thither  to  pro- 
cure their  daily  supply  of  water. 


132  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

As  she  entered  the  village,  she  noticed  the  gipsy  camp 
at  her  right  hand,  but  turned  her  head. 

At  that  moment,  she  met  two  women  on  their  way  to 
the  spring,  walking  steadily  between  the  two  bars,  the 
ends  of  which  they  held  in  their  hands,  and  from  which, 
exactly  in  the  middle,  the  water-jug  was  suspended  by 
its  two  ears. 

"It  is  just  the  time  for  the  spring,"  said  Livette  to 
herself,  and  she  followed  them  at  a  foot-pace. 

"Good-day,  mademoiselle,"  the  women  said  as  they 
passed,  for  the  pretty  maiden  of  the  Chateau  d' Avignon 
was  known  to  everybody. 

There  was  as  yet  no  one  at  the  spring.  The  two 
women  waited,  and  Livette  with  them. 

"  How  do  you  happen  to  be  riding  about  so  early, 
mademoiselle?     Are  you  looking  for  some  one?" 

"I  am  out  for  a  ride,"  said  Livette,  "and  as  it's  the 
time  for  drawing  water,  I  thought  I  would  stop  here  a 
moment.     My  friends  will  surely  come  sooner  or  later." 

No  more  was  said,  and  Livette,  having  nothing  else 
to  do,  looked  closely  for  the  first  time  at  the  carved 
stone  escutcheon  in  the  centre  of  the  high  arched  wall 
above  the  spring.  It  is  the  town  crest,  and  it  is  need- 
less to  say  that  it  includes  a  boat,  a  boat  without  mast 
or  oars,  in  which  the  two  Maries — Jacobe  and  Salome — 
are  standing. 

"I  have  often  wondered,"  said  Livette,  "why  they 
put  only  the  figures  of  two  holy  women   in   the  boat. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  133 

For  haven't  our  mothers  always  told  us  there  were  three 
of  them  ?     Were  there  three  or  not  ?  ' ' 

"Certainly  there  were  three,  my  pretty  innocent," 
said  the  older  of  the  two  women,  "but  Sara  was  the 
servant,  and  no  honor  is  due  to  her." 

"If  the  third  was  Saint  Sara,  then  there  were  not 
three  Marys,  eh  ?  But  I  have  always  heard  it  said  that 
the  Magdalen  was  there,  and  that  she  went  away  from 
here  and  died  at  Sainte-Baume. " 

"  Yes,  so  she  was,  and  many  others  besides  !  Lazarus 
was  in  the  boat,  too,  but  when  they  were  once  on  shore, 
every  one  went  his  own  way :  Magdalen  went  to  Baume, 
and  the  two  Maries  and  Sara  remained  with  us.  That 
was  when  a  spring  came  out  of  the  sand,  by  the  favor  of 
our  Lord.  When  they  built  the  church,  they  walled  in 
the  spring  in  the  centre  of  it." 

"  Faith,  they  would  have  done  well  to  leave  the  spring 
outside  the  church  !  " 

"  Why  so?  is  the  water  spoiled  by  it?" 

"  It's  only  good  on  the  fete-day." 

"After  so  many  years  !     And  there's  so  little  of  it !  " 

"  We  ought  to  have  asked  the  saints  to  make  it  pure 
and  abundant.  If  we  had  all  set  about  it  with  our 
prayers,  they  would  have  done  it  for  us." 

"  One  miracle  more  or  less  !  " 

"The  miracles,  my  dear,  are  only  for  strangers." 

"And  that  is  just  what  we  need,  neighbor.  If  it 
wasn't  so,  you  see,  strangers  wouldn't  come  any  more — • 


134  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

and  without  them  what  would  the  country  Hve  on  ?  poor 
we!  Where  are  our  harvests?  Where  are  our  w'heat 
and  our  grain,  good  people,  tell  me  that?  If  it  wasn't 
for  the  saints,  this  would  be  a  cursed  country  !  One 
fete-day  a  year,  and  the  pilgrims — God  bless  them  ! — 
fill  our  purses  for  us." 

"  Miracle  days  are  only  too  few  and  far  between. 
We  ought  to  have  two  fete-days  a  year  !  ' ' 

"What  are  you  saying,  you  foolish  woman?  Two 
fete-days  a  year  !  Mother  of  God  !  That  would  mean 
death  to  pilgrimages.  To  keep  the  custom  going,  every- 
thing must  be  just  as  it  is  and  nothing  change  at  all. 
Our  men  know  that  well  enough.  Remember  the  visit 
the  Archbishop  of  Aix  and  those  great  ladies  paid  us 
twenty  years  ago." 

And  once  more  the  story  was  told  of  the  visit  of  the 
Archbishop  of  Aix  to  Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer  twenty 
or  thirty  years  before. 

On  a  certain  24th  of  May  the  archbishop  arrived  at 
Saintes- Maries  with  several  elderly  ladies  of  the  nobility 
of  Aix.  But  it  so  happened  that  that  24th  of  May  was 
the  evening  of  the  25  th !  Anybody  may  be  mistaken  ! — 
So  that,  instead  of  being  lowered  at  four  o'clock,  the 
reliquaries  were  raised  again  on  that  day,  and  when 
monseigneur  entered  the  church  with  his  fair  compan- 
ions, it  was  good-by,  saints  !  They  had  already  been 
hoisted  up  at  the  end  of  their  ropes  to  the  lofty  chapel, 
amid  the  singing  of  canticles. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  135 

"  Oh  !  well !  "  said  the  archbishop  to  the  cure,  "  they 
must  come  down  again  for  us." 

The  cure  was  about  to  obey,  but  a  rumor  of  what  was 
going  on  had  already  spread  through  the  village  ! — Ah ! 
bless  my  soul,  what  a  commotion  ! 

"  What !  "  said  the  old  villagers.  "  They  would  lower 
the  reliquaries  on  some  other  day  than  the  24th,  would 
they?  Why,  if  it  is  such  a  simple  thing  and  can  be 
done  so  often,  why  do  you  make  the  poor  devils  from 
every  corner  of  Provence  and  all  the  rest  of  the  world 
come  hurrying  to  us  on  a  special  day?  No,  no,  it  would 
be  the  ruin  of  the  country,  that  is  certain  !  " 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  people  of  Saintes- 
Maries  took  their  guns,  and  under  arms,  in  the  church 
itself,  compelled  the  prince  of  the  Church  to  respect  the 
sovereign  will  of  the  people  of  the  town. 

And  they  did  very  well,  for  rarity  is  the  quality  by 
virtue  of  which  miracles  retain  their  value. 

One  of  the  women  having  told  this  anecdote,  Avhich 
was  perfectly  well  known  to  them  all,  they  began,  as 
soon  as  she  had  finished,  to  make  up  for  their  long  silence 
by  loud  talk,  vying  with  one  another  in  their  approval 
of  the  villagers'  revolt  against  the  bishops,  who  would 
have  abused  the  good-will  of  the  two  Maries. 

"We  are  very  lucky,  all  the  same,"  said  one  of  the 
old  women,  "to  have  a  good  well  with  good  stone  walls 
instead  of  the  brackish  spring  the  saints  had  to  get  their 
drinking-water  from.     I  can  remember  the  time  when 


136  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

we  got  our  water  from  the  pousaraque  (artificial  pond), 
as  the  people  on  our  farms  do  to-day.  The  Rhone 
water  that  was  brought  into  them  through  the  canals 
was  always  so  thick  and  muddy  you  could  cut  it  with  a 
knife!" 

"Bah  !  it  had  time  enough  to  settle  in  our  jars." 

"It  is  funny,  though,  to  be  so  hard  up  for  water  in 
such  a  wet  country  !  ' '  said  a  young  woman  who  had 
just  arrived.  "This  water  is  a  nuisance!  Saint  Sara, 
the  servant,  ought  to  have  known  from  experience  that 
a  woman  has  enough  work  to  do  at  home  without  wasting 
her  time  waiting  in  front  of  closed  spigots.  Saint  Sara, 
protect  us,  and  make  them  turn  on  the  water !  " 

The  women  began  to  laugh. 

Almost  all  the  housekeepers  of  Saintes-Maries  had 
assembled  by  this  time.  A  last  group  arrived  upon  the 
scene.  Some  carried  jars,  without  handles,  upon  their 
heads,  balancing  them  by  a  graceful  swaying  of  the 
whole  body.  With  their  hands  upon  their  hips,  they 
themselves  were  not  unlike  living  amphorse.  Others, 
having  one  jug  upon  the  head,  carried  another  in  each 
hand — the  stout  dourgue,  with  handle  and  mouth  ;  others 
had  wooden  pails,  others,  glass  jars,  each  having  selected 
a  larger  or  smaller  vessel,  according  to  the  necessities 
of  her  household. 

"  What  sort  of  a  pot  have  you  there,  Felicite?  " 

^Vhereat  there  was  a  general  laugh. 

She  to  whom  the  question  was  directed,  replied  : 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  137 

"  I  broke  my  jug,  poor  me  !  And,  as  I  had  to  have 
some  water,  I  took  an  old  thing  I  found  that  has  always 
been  standing  behind  the  door  at  our  house  since  I  can 
remember.  If  it  will  hold  water,  it  will  do  for  me 
to-day,  my  dear  !  ' ' 

"Take  it  to  monsieur  le  cure  for  his  library;  it's  an 
antique,  and  is  worth  money  !  " 

FeUcite  had,  in  fact,  come  to  the  spring  with  a  genuine 
Roman  amphora,  found  in  the  sandy  bed  of  the  Rhone — 
a  jar  two  thousand  years  old  and  hardly  chipped  ! 

Each  family  at  Saintes-Maries  is  entitled  to  one  or 
two  jars  of  water  each  day,  according  to  the  number 
of  its  members. — The  water  had  not  begun  to  flow. 

Livette,  sitting  upon  her  horse,  thoughtful  and  sad 
amid  the  chatter,  was  still  awaiting  her  friends. 

"What  were  you  saying  just  now?"  asked  some  late 
comers. 

And  having  been  informed,  each  one  of  them  pro- 
ceeded to  expound  her  ideas  upon  the  subject  of  the 
saints  and  Sara  the  bondwoman,  paying  no  heed  to 
what  the  others  were  saying — so  that  the  jabbering  of 
the  women  and  girls  seemed  like  a  Ramadan  of  mag- 
pies and  jays  assembled  in  one  of  the  isolated  clumps  of 
pines  so  often  seen  in  Camargue. 

"I  would  like  to  know  if  it's  fair,"  cried  one  of  the 
women,  "not  to  put  in  Saint  Sara's  portrait,  too!  A 
saint's  a  saint,  and  where  there's  a  saint  there  isn't  any 
servant ! ' ' 


13S  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

"The  saints  aren't  proud  !  and  Saint  Sara  cares  mighty 
little  whether  her  picture's  there  or  not !  " 

*'  She  may  not  care,  but  it  was  an  insult  to  her  !  " 

"Oh !  "  said  another,  "good  King  Rene  and  the  Pope 
knew  what  they  were  doing  when  they  arranged  things 
so.  Sara  was  Pontius  Pilate's  wife,  and  she  was  the  one 
who  advised  her  husband  to  wash  his  hands  of  the 
heathens'  crime  !  " 

A  murmur  of  reproof  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth 
among  the  gossips. 

"Ah  !  here's  old  Rosine,  she'll  set  us  right." 

Motionless  upon  her  horse  Livette  listened  vaguely. 
She  was  absent-minded,  yet  interested. 

When  old  Rosine,  who  was  very  deaf,  had  finally  been 
made  to  understand  what  was  wanted  of  lier,  and  that 
she  was  expected  to  give  her  views  concerning  Sara  the 
bondwoman,  she  began  : 

"Ah!  my  children,  God  knows  his  own,  and  Sara 
was  a  great  saint,  for  sure " 

Here  Rosine  crossed  herself,  and  was  at  once  imitated 
by  all  the  old  women. 

"But,"  added  Rosine,  "Sara  was  a  heathen  woman 
from  Egypt,  and  not  a  Jewess  of  Judea ;  and  the  heathens, 
you  see,  come  a  long  way  after  the  Jews  in  the  world's 
esteem.  Don't  you  see  that  the  Jews  are  scattered  all 
over  the  world,  but  they  stay  everywhere,  and  become 
masters  by  force  of  avarice.  That  is  their  way  of  being 
blessed  by  their  Lord.     But  the  heathens  of  Egypt,  on 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  139 

the  contrary,  are  wanderers  and  poor,  although  they  are 
thieves,  and  more  scattered  and  more  accursed  than  the 
Jews.  Well,  you  see,  my  children,  Saint  Sara  is  their 
saint,  the  saint  of  the  Egyptian  heathens !  She  wasn't 
a  very  good  Catholic  saint,  to  pay  the  boatman  for  her 
passage  by  a  sight  of  her  naked  body — with  the  indif- 
ference of  an  old  sinner,  I  fancy  !  So  it  is  right  that 
she  should  come  after  the  two  Mar}-s,  for  there  are 
different  ranks  in  heaven.  And  that  is  why  Saint  Sara's 
bones  are  not  between  the  boards  of  the  great  shrine  in 
the  church,  but  under  the  glass  of  the  little  shrine  in  the 
crypt — or  the  cellar,  you  might  say.  The  cellar  is  a 
good  enough  place — under  the  feet  of  Christians — for 
miserable  gipsies !  And  it  is  right  that  it  should 
be  so." 

"  What  Rosine  says  is  true  !  "  cried  one  of  the  women. 
"  These  frequent  visits  of  the  gipsies  are  the  ruin  of  the 
country.  When  our  pilgrims  come,  rich  and  poor,  do 
you  suppose  they  like  to  find  all  these  scamps,  who  are 
so  clever  at  stealing  folks'  handkerchiefs  and  purses, 
settled  here  before  them?  Don't  you  suppose  that  drives 
people  away  from  us  ?  How  many  there  are  who  would 
like  to  come,  but  don't  care  to  compromise  themselves 
by  being  found  in  such  company  !  " 

"  Bah  !  such  nonsense  !  "  said  a  humpbacked  woman; 
"those  who  have  faith  don't  stop  half-way  for  such  a 
small  matter  !  And  those  who  have  some  troublesome 
disease  and  hope   to  cure  it  here  aren't  afraid  of  the 


140  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

thieves  nor  their  vermin.  Take  away  my  hump,  mighty 
saints,  and  I  will  undertake  to  get  rid  of  my  lice  and 
my  fleas  one  by  one,  without  any  assistance  ! ' ' 

This  speech  was  greeted  by  a  roar  of  laughter,  which 
stopped  abruptly,  as  if  by  enchantment.  The  little  gate 
to  the  spring  was  opened  at  last,  and,  at  the  sound  of 
the  water  rushing  from  the  pipe,  all  the  women  ran  to 
take  their  places  in  the  line — not  without  some  trifling 
disputes  for  precedence. 

At  last,  some  of  Livette's  girl  friends  arrived.  Spying 
them  at  some  little  distance,  she  went  to  meet  them. 

"  What  brings  Livette  here  so  early,  on  horseback?  " 
said  the  women,  when  she  had  moved  away. 

"Why,  she's  looking  for  her  rascal  of  a  Renaud,  of 
course  !  "  said  the  hunchback.  "That  fellow  isn't  used 
to  being  tied  like  a  goat  to  a  stake,  and  the  little 
one  will  have  a  hard  time  to  keep  him  true  to  her, 
for  all  her  fine  dot/  —  The  other  day,  Rampal  —  you 
know,  the  drover,  a  good  fellow — saw  him  at  a  distance 
on  the  beach  talking  with  a  gipsy  who  wasn't  dressed 
for  winter !  " 

" Not  dressed  for  winter?  what  do  you  mean? " 

"  She  wore  no  furs,  nor  cloak,  nor  anything  else,  poor 
me  !  She  was  taking  a  bath  as  God  made  her.  The 
plain  isn't  a  safe  place  for  that  sort  of  thing.  You  think 
you  can't  be  seen  because  you  think  you  can  see  a  long 
distance  yourself,  but  a  tuft  of  heather  is  enough  for  the 
lizard  to  hide  his  two  eyes  behind  while  he  looks." 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  141 

Again  the  women  began  to  chuckle  and  laugh,  but  for 
a  moment  only. 

Meanwhile,  Livette's  friends  were  saying  to  her  : 

"  No,  we  haven't  seen  your  sweetheart,  my  dear;  but 
they  are  already  putting  the  benches  in  place  against 
the  church  for  the  branding,  and  he  can't  fail  to  be 
here  soon." 

At  that  moment,  a  strain  of  weird  music  arose  not  far 
away.  It  was  produced  by  a  flute,  and  the  notes,  softly 
modulated  at  first,  were  abruptly  changed  to  heart- 
rending shrieks.  A  strange,  dull,  mgnotonous  accom- 
paniment seemed  to  encourage  the  sick  heart,  that  called 
for  help  with  piercing  cries. 

"  Hark  !  there  are  the  gipsies  and  their  devil's  music, 
Livette.  Just  go  and  look — it  is  such  an  amusing  sight. 
We  will  join  you  in  a  little  while." 

"  What  about  my  horse?  "  said  Livette. 

"If  you  haven't  come  to  stay,  there's  a  heavy  iron 
bracelet  just  set  into  the  wall  of  the  church  to  hold 
the  bars  of  the  enclosure  for  the  branding.  Tie  your 
horse  to  that,  and  don't  be  afraid  that  he  will  disap- 
pear. Every  one  will  know  he's  yours  by  those  pretty 
letters  in  copper  nails  you  have  had  put  on  your  saddle- 
bow." 

Livette  fastened  her  horse  to  the  ring  in  the  church - 
wall,  and  walked  in  the  direction  of  the  gipsy  music. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  she  might  probably  learn  some- 
thing there. 


142  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Now,  Zinzara  the  Egyptian  had  seen  Livette  ride 
into  the  village,  and  her  music  had  no  other  purpose 
than  to  attract  her,  and  Renaud,  her  fiance,  with  her, 
if  he  were  there.  Why?  to  see; — to  bring  together  for 
an  instant,  with  no  fixed  purpose,  upon  the  same  point 
of  the  vast  world  through  which  she  wandered,  two  of 
the  personages  with  whom  she  "beguiled  her  time;" 
to  look  on  at  the  comedy  of  life,  and  to  watch  the 
sequel,  with  the  inclination  to  give  an  evil  turn  to  it, 
chance  aiding.  She  loved  the  anomalies  that  result 
from  the  chaotic  jumbling  together  of  circumstances. 

Zinzara  was  turning  a  kaleidoscope  whose  field  was 
vast  like  the  horizon  of  her  never-ending  travels,  and 
whose  bits  of  glass,  multicolored,  were  living  souls. — 
She  turned  the  wheel  to  see  what  calamity  destiny,  with 
her  assistance,  would  bring  to  pass.  The  amusement  of 
a  woman,  of  a  sorceress. 


XIII 

THE   SNAKE-CHARMER 

Life  is  an  enigma.  The  everlasting  silence  of  space 
is  but  the  endless  murmuring  of  invisible  circles  which, 
twining  in  and  out,  part  and  meet  again,  lose  and  never 
find  one  another,  or  are  inextricably  interwoven  forever. 
Life  is  an  enigma.  We  can  see  something  of  its  begin- 
ning, nothing  of  its  close;  its  meaning  escapes  us,  but 
all  the  links  make  the  chain,  and  some  one  knows  the 
rest. 

That  there  are  two  ends  to  the  ladder  is  certain.  Day 
is  not  night,  and  one  does  not  exist  without  the  other. 
There  are  joy  and  sorrow,  health  and  sickness,  happi- 
ness and  unhappiness,  life  and  death — in  a  word,  good 
and  evil,  for  the  beast  of  flesh  and  bone.  This  is  a 
good  man,  that  a  bad.  Religion  and  morals  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  afford  no  explanation ;  but 
little  children  know  that  it  is  so,  and  fools  know  it  like- 
wise. They  who  undertake  to  reason  the  thing  out 
learnedly,  befog  it.  They  who  pull  the  thread  break  it. 
There  is  some  one  and  there  is  something.     Nothing  is 

143 


144  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

null,  I  tell  you,  my  good  friends,  and  yonder  drivelling 
old  idiot,  sitting  on  the  stone  at  the  foot  of  the  Calvary 
before  the  church,  and  holding  out  his  hand  to  Livette, 
knows  two  things  better  than  we — good  and  evil.  The 
idiot,  when  he  passed  the  gipsies'  wagons  in  the  morn- 
ing, talked  amicably,  yes,  he  talked  for  some  minutes 
with  two  or  three  gaunt  dogs  chained  up  under  the 
wagons ;  but  when  he  saw  Zinzara,  the  queen,  fix  her 
eyes  upon  him,  the  idiot  was  afraid  and  limped  away  as 
fast  as  he  could.  He  was  afraid  because  there  was,  in 
Zinzara's  look,  something  7iot  good. 

And  now  Livette,  as  she  passes  by,  glances  at  him, 
and  the  idiot — poor  human  worm — smiles  and  holds  out 
to  her  a  glass  pearl, — a  treasure  in  his  eyes, — which  he 
found  that  morning  in  the  filth  of  the  gutter  near  by. 
The  pearl  glistens.  It  is  bright  blue.  The  idiot  sees 
beauty  in  it,  and  offers  it  to  the  pretty  girl  passing  by. 
Livette  smiles  at  him,  and  he,  the  drivelling  idiot,  the 
cripple  who  drags  himself  along  the  ground,  laughs  back 
at  Livette.  He  laughs  and  feels  his  man's  heart  vaguely 
opening  within  him — why? — because  of  something  good 
in  Livette's  eyes. 

God  is  above  us,  and  the  devil  beneath  us.  God  ? 
what  do  you  mean  by  God?  Kindly  humanity,  which 
is  above  us  and  toward  which  we  are  ascending  ;  the 
ideal,  evolved  from  ourselves  which,  by  dint  of  declaring 
itself  and  compelling  love,  will  be  realized  in  our  chil- 
dren.    The  devil?  what  is  that?  the  obscure  beast,  the 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  145 

ravenous,  blind  worm,  which  we  were,  and  from  which 
we  are  moving  farther  and  farther  away. 

There  is  something  nearer  the  mystery  than  the  mind, 
and  that  something  is  tlie  instinct.  Certainly  we  are 
nearer  to  our  origin  than  to  our  end,  and  instinct  almost 
explains  the  origin  because  it  is  still  near  at  hand,  but 
the  mind  cannot  explain  the  end  because  it  is  still  so  far 
away  !  Whence  come  we  ?  The  crawling  beast  may 
suspect. — Whither  go  we?  How  can  the  beast  tell, 
when  he  cannot  fly  ? 

The  bond  that  binds  us  fast  to  earth  is  not  cut.  Man 
bears  forever  the  scar  of  his  birth.  He  has,  therefore, 
always  before  him  evidence  of  how  he  is  connected  with 
infinity  behind  him  \  but  how  he  is  connected,  by  death, 
with  the  life  everlasting,  before  him,  he  does  not  see. 

Instinct,  like  a  glow-worm,  lights  up  the  depths  from 
which  man  comes  forth,  but  intelligence  casts  no  light 
into  the  boundless  expanse  on  high,  wherein  it  loses 
itself,  just  at  the  point  where  God  begins. — Ah!  how 
mysterious  is  God  ! 

Yes,  between  the  intelligence  and  man's  origin,  in- 
stinct stretches  like  a  bridge.  Between  the  intelligence 
and  man's  end,  there  is  a  yawning  chasm.  The  reason 
cannot  cross  it.  There  is  no  way  but  to  leap.  Man 
finds  it  easy  to  imagine  what  lies  below ;  his  own  weight 
draws  him  down  to  a  point  where  he  can  understand  it. 

To  understand  what  is  above,  it  is  essential  to  have  a 
power  of  lightening  one's  self,  a  wing  which  man  has 


146  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

not.  Here  instinct  acts  upon  the  mind  in  a  direction 
opposed  to  mental  effort. 

To  some  minds  this  faculty  of  rising  sometimes  comes, 
but  man's  conceptions  depend  upon  his  experiences,  and 
the  time  has  passed  when  reliance  was  placed  upon  the 
"wise  men,"  upon  those  whose  conceptions  far  outran 
their  experiences.  Perhaps  it  is  better  so.  Perhaps 
every  man  ought  to  form  his  ideas  for  himself  and  no 
one  will  know  anything  for  good  and  ail  until  he  has 
earned  the  right. 

Sometimes,  for  a  moment,  especially  in  dreams,  but 
occasionally  in  his  waking  hours,  man  knows.  He  has 
profound  intuition ;  but  nothing  is  more  fleeting  than 
this  sudden  glimpse  of  eternity. 

The  best  of  us  are  blind  men  haunted  by  the  memory 
of  a  flash  of  light. 

Which  of  us  has  not  known,  by  personal  experience, 
how  a  man  can  fly  away  from  himself?  The  sense  of 
mystery,  scarcely  detected,  has  escaped  us,  but  who  has 
not  been  conscious  of  it  for  a  second  ? 

Truth,  like  love,  reveals  itself  for  a  second  only,  but 
we  must  believe  in  it — forever. 

These  thoughts  are  properly  presented  here,  for  every- 
thing is  in  everything.  One  man  studies  the  hyssop, 
another  the  oak ;  Cuvier  the  mastodon,  and  Lubbock 
the  ant,  but  they  all  arrive  at  the  same  point,  a  point 
which  includes  everything. 

Do  you  know  why  the  gipsies,  Bohemians,  gitanos, 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  147 

zincali,  zingari,  zigeuners,  zinganes,  tziganes,  romani, 
romichal, — all  different  appellations  of  the  same  wan- 
dering race, — arouse  such  intense  interest  on  the  part  of 
civilized  peoples? 

There  are  two  reasons. 

The  first  is,  that  the  gipsy,  being  very  primitive  and 
wild,  appears  among  civilized  beings  as  the  image  of 
themselves  in  the  past.  It  is  as  if  they  were  our  own 
ghosts. 

When  we  see  them  among  us,  we  amuse  ourselves,  in 
the  shelter  of  our  established  homes,  by  thinking  regret- 
fully that  we  no  longer  have  before  us  the  broad  plains 
so  dear  to  the  beasts  we  are ;  that  we  are  no  longer  in 
constant  contact  with  the  earth,  the  plants,  the  animals, 
which  are  the  mothers  that  bore  us,  and  whom  we  love 
for  that  reason.  They  have  remained  what  we  were 
when  we  left  them,  and  that  touches  us. 

The  second  reason  is  that  they  really  discovered  long 
ago  something  of  the  meaning  of  life. 

It  is  certain  that  they  are  magicians.  They  have  seen 
the  hidden  spring  and  have  a  vague  remembrance  of  it ; 
they  have  retained  its  dark  reflection  in  their  glance. 

The  glance  !  they  know  its  dormant  and  insinuating 
power.  They  know  how  to  subdue  weak  minds  by  a 
glance. 

The  least  skilled  in  magic  among  them  still  believe 
that  the  "secret  "  of  things  is  hidden  away  somewhere 
under  a  stone,  and  in  their  travels  through  every  country 


148  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

on  earth  they  often  raise  heavy  boulders,  whose  pecuHar 
shapes  seem  to  indicate  that  they  may  conceal  the 
mystery.  They  never  find  under  the  boulders  anything 
but  toads  and  snakes  and  scorpions,  but  they  are  skilled 
at  making  powerful  potions  from  the  blood  and  venom 
of  the  reptiles. 

They  know,  also,  the  secret  properties  of  plants,  and 
that  the  hemlock  and  belladonna  vary  in  their  effects 
when  cut  at  certain  times  of  the  year  and  at  certain 
hours,  according  to  the  influence  of  the  seasons  and 
the  moon's  rays. 

The  gipsies  are  skilled  in  the  science  of  poisons.  Men 
and  women — roms  andjuwas — excel  in  the  art  of  giving 
diseases  to  cattle. 

Their  trades  are  only  pretexts  for  calling  at  the  houses 
they  pass.  They  are  coppersmiths  simply  because  the 
art  of  subjecting  metals  to  the  action  of  fire  was  in- 
vented by  the  son  of  Cain,  the  progenitor  of  all  accursed 
mortals.  And  they  are  saddlers  because  they  like  to  be 
about  horses,  dear  to  all  vagabonds. 

The  gipsies,  who  were  originally  worshippers  of  fire, 
and  now  have  no  religion  of  their  own,  but  always  adopt 
that  of  the  country  they  are  passing  through,  are  to 
mankind  what  Lucifer  is  to  the  angels. 

"  ^^'e  come  from  Egypt,  if  you  please,"  Zinzara  would 
sometimes  say  to  the  people  of  her  tribe.  "  Indeed, 
that  is  where  we  had  our  homes  and  were  a  powerful 
race  in  the  days  of  Moses.     Then  our  ancestors  were 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  149 

magicians  to  the  kings  of  Egypt,  who  overcame  death ; 
but  our  origin  is  higher  and  farther  away. 

"We  come  from  a  country  where  the  Secret  Power 
of  the  World  was  discovered :  a  dragon  guards  the  mys- 
tery on  the  summit  of  a  lofty  mountain,  in  a  cavern,  out 
of  reach  of  whatever  floods  may  come. 

*'  Our  ancestor  (^oudra  learned  from  the  high-priests 
the  method  of  compelling  the  dragon  to  obey  him.  He 
entered  the  cavern  and  conceived  the  idea  of  universal 
knowledge,  and  resolved  to  avail  himself  of  it  in  the 
outside  world,  in  order  that  he  might  become  a  king 
and  mighty  among  men — for  why  was  he  poor?  Why 
does  poverty  exist,  why  death  ? 

"He  had  no  sooner  conceived  his  project  of  justi- 
fiable rebellion  than  the  dragon  sought  to  devour 
him.  Our  ancestor  eluded  him,  and  believed  that, 
by  virtue  of  the  secrets  he  had  discovered,  he  would 
be  omnipotent  on  earth,  but  suddenly  he  found  that 
he  had  almost  forgotten  them  all,  as  if  by  magic.  He 
no  longer  remembered  any  of  them  except  those  that 
do  harm,  those  that  produce  disease,  sorrow,  misery, 
and  death — all  the  evils  from  which  he  would  have 
liked  to  free  himself. 

"And  the  high-priests  cursed  him  and  his  sons. 
Manou  spoke  against  them  thus  :  They  shall  dwell  out- 
side of  cities  ;  they  shall  possess  none  but  broken  vessels  ; 
they  shall  have  nothing  of  their  own,  except  it  be  an  ass 
or  a  dog.      They  shall  wear  the  clothes  they  steal  from 


150  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

the  dead;  their  plates  shall  be  broken  ;  their  jeiuels  shall 
be  of  iron.  They  shall  journey,  without  rest,  from  place 
to  place.  Every  man  who  is  faithful  to  his  duty  shall 
hold  himself  aloof  from  them.  They  shall  have  no  deal- 
ings except  with  one  another.  And  they  shall  marry 
only  in  their  own  race. 

"And  the  Tchandalas  were  able  to  flee  the  country, 
but  not  the  sentence. 

"And  that  is  our  present  case. 

"The  crown  of  Qoudra  is  a  broken  ring — with  sharp 
points,  Hke  a  dog's  collar,  and  his  sceptre  is  an  iron 
staff,  broken  but  formidable.  For  why  does  want  exist, 
and  pain  and  death  ?     God  is  wicked  !  ' ' 

With  this  tale,  set  to  music,  the  gipsy  queen  sometimes 
lulled  her  son  to  sleep. 

And  when,  at  the  entrance  to  some  chateau,  she  cast 
a  long,  malevolent  glance  upon  a  young  mother,  who, 
upon  catching  sight  of  her,  quickly  carried  her  little 
child  within,  such  thoughts  as  these  would  run  through 
Zinzara's  head:  "The  secrets  that  are  known  to  our 
prophets,  our  dukes  and  princes  and  kings,  will  cause 
all  your  cities,  your  churches,  and  your  thrones  to  trem- 
ble on  their  foundations,  for  why  does  want  exist,  and 
pain  and  death?  The  hour  will  come — we  await  it — 
when  your  nations  will  be  scattered  to  the  winds  of 
wrath,  unless  the  wise  men  who  invoked  a  curse  on  us 
become  their  masters — but  you  are  too  far  from  their 
wisdom  for  that !     You  will  be  ours. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  151 

"  Meanwhile,  woe  to  those  of  you  whom  we  find 
alone !  We  look  fixedly  at  them,  and  the  spirit  of  evil 
does  the  rest." 

And  this  is  what  little  Livette  saw  when  she  ap- 
proached the  gipsy  camp. 

The  whole  tribe  was  there.  Their  numerous  wagons 
were  of  different  sizes,  most  of  them  being  made  in  the 
shape  of  small  oblong  houses,  with  little  windows,  very 
like  the  Noah's  arks  made  for  children  in  Germany. 
The  gipsies  had  arranged  their  wagons  side  by  side,  in 
a  line,  each  one  opposite  a  house  in  the  village.  Thus 
the  line  of  wheeled  houses  formed  with  the  houses  of  the 
village  a  winding  street,  which,  if  prolonged,  would  have 
surrounded  Saintes-Maries  like  a  girdle.  Thus,  while 
their  sojourn  lasted,  the  gipsies  could  cherish  the  illu- 
sion that  they  were  settled  there,  that  they  were  inhab- 
itants of  the  village,  one  dwelling  opposite  the  baker, 
another  opposite  the  wine-shop  ;  but  no  one  forgot  that 
the  gipsy  houses  were  built  upon  wheels  that  turn  and 
can  make  the  tour  of  the  world. 

"I  pity  the  tree,"  says  the  gipsy,  "it  looks  enviously 
at  me  as  I  pass.     It  is  jealous  of  my  ass's  feet." 

Most  of  the  wagons  were  patched  with  boards  of  many 
colors,  picked  up  or  stolen  here  and  there. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  wagons  of  the  tribe  were 
placed  in  the  rear  of  the  village  houses,  so  that  the 
occupants  of  those  houses,  the  innkeeper  or  the  baker, 
being  busy  in   the  front  part  of  their  establishments, 


152  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

could  naturally  dispense  with  a  too  frequent  appearance 
in  the  gipsy  street. 

The  nomads  alone  swarmed  there  undisturbed.  They 
passed  but  little  time  in  the  wagons,  except  when  they 
were  on  the  road  or  tired  or  sick  ;  their  days  were 
passed  in  the  open  air,  squatting  in  the  dust,  or  on  the 
steps  of  the  little  ladders  which  they  lowered  from  the 
doors  of  their  wagons  to  the  ground ;  or  else  they 
passed  long  hours  lying  in  the  shade  under  the  w-agon 
— smoking  their  pipes  and  dreaming. 

For  the  moment,  some  of  the  women  here  and  there 
through  the  camp  were  intent  upon  the  same  occupation: 
searching,  in  the  bright  morning  light,  for  vermin  among 
the  matted  hair  of  their  children,  whom  they  held  tightly 
between  their  knees  as  in  a  vise. 

From  time  to  time,  one  of  the  little  fellows  would 
howl  with  pain,  when  his  mother  inadvertently  pulled 
or  tore  out  one  of  his  wiry,  coal-black  hairs.  Then  he 
would  wriggle  and  squirm  to  get  away,  but  the  vise 
formed  by  the  knees  would  nip  him  again  and  hold  him 
tight,  and  there  would  be  a  squealing  as  of  sucking  pigs 
loth  to  be  bled.  Then  blow^s  would  rain  down  and  the 
shrieks  redouble.  Suddenly  the  urchin  that  was  howling 
most  lustily  would  cease,  and  follow,  with  a  lively  inter- 
est, the  movements  of  a  chicken  from  some  neighboring 
cooj),  or  the  antics  of  a  hunting-dog  that  had  wandered 
that  way  and  w^as  well  worth  stealing. 

The  mothers  went  through  with  their  matutinal  task 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  153 

in  an  automatic  way  that  said  as  clearly  as  possible : 
"It  is  of  no  use  to  try  to  do  this,  tor  the  vermin  breed 
and  always  will  breed ;  but  we  must  do  something.  It 
is  always  a  good  thing  to  be  busy ;  and  then  it  makes 
an  excellent  impression,  here  under  the  eye  of  civilized 
people.     They  see  that  we  are  clean  and  neat." 

"Buy  my  dog,"  said  one  of  them  with  a  leer  to  an 
open-mouthed  villager.  "You  will  be  well  satisfied 
with  his  fidelity.  He  is  faithful,  I  tell  you  !  so  faithful 
that  I  have  been  able  to  sell  him  four  times. — He  always 
comes  back  !  ' ' 

All  these  women  had  a  coppery,  sunburned,  almost 
black  skin,  and  hair  of  a  peculiar,  dull  charcoal-like 
black. — Some  wore  it  twisted  in  a  heavy  coil  on  top  of 
the  head.  Several  of  the  younger  women  let  it  hang 
in  long,  snake-like  locks  over  their  breasts  and  backs. 
Their  eyes  also  were  a  curious  shade  of  black,  very 
bright,  like  black  velvet  seen  through  glass.  Life  shone 
but  dully  in  them,  without  definite  expression.  Some 
mothers  were  attending  to  their  duties  with  a  child  on 
their  back,  wrapped  in  a  sheet  which  they  wore  bando- 
leer-fashion, with  the  ends  knotted  at  the  shoulder. 
The  little  one  slept  with  his  head  hanging,  tossed  and 
shaken  by  every  movement. 

Red,  orange,  and  blue  were  the  prevailing  colors  of 
their  tattered  garments,  but  they  were  tarnished  and 
faded  and  almost  blotted  out  by  layers  of  dust  and  filth  ; 
— a  smoke-begrimed  Orient. 


154  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Many  of  the  women  had  short  pipes  between  their 
teeth.  The  men  who  lay  about  here  and  there,  with 
their  elbows  on  the  ground,  were  almost  all  smoking 
l^lacidly,  their  Sylvanus-like  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy. 
They  made  a  great  show  of  pride  under  their  rags. 
Some  were  asleep  under  the  rolling  cabins. 

The  line  of  wagons  along  the  outskirts  of  the  village 
was  still  in  shadow,  but  at  the  head  of  the  line,  the 
first  of  the  wagons,  standing  a  little  apart,  beyond  the 
line  of  the  houses,  was  in  the  sunlight.  This  wagon, 
which  was  painted  and  kept  up  better  than  the  others, 
was  Zinzara's,  and  a  few  of  the  villagers  had  collected 
in  the  sunshine  in  front  of  it,  attracted  by  the  notes  of 
the  flute  and  tambourine. 

Livette,  as  she  approached  the  group,  had  no  suspicion 
that,  in  the  wine-shop  facing  the  wagon,  behind  the 
curtains  of  a  window  on  the  first  floor,  Renaud  had 
stationed  himself,  there,  at  his  ease,  to  watch  the  gipsy, 
who  was  playing  the  flute  and  dancing  at  the  same 
time,  her  feet  and  arms  bare. 

Zinzara  held  the  flute — a  double  flute  with  two  reeds 
diverging  slightly — with  much  grace,  and  blew  upon  it 
with  full  cheeks,  raising  and  lowering  her  fingers  to  suit 
the  requirements  of  a  weird  air,  sometimes  slow,  some- 
times furiously  fast  and  jerky.  Her  head  was  thrown 
back,  so  that  she  appeared  more  haughty  and  aggressive 
than  ever. 

As  she  played  upon  her  flute,  Zinzara  danced — a  dance 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  155 

as  mysterious  as  herself.  With  her  bare  feet  she  simply 
beat  time  on  the  ground.  Her  dance  was  naught  but 
a  play  of  attitudes,  so  to  speak.  She  constantly  varied 
the  rhythmical  undulations  of  her  flexible,  vigorous  body, 
whose  outline  could  be  traced  at  every  movement  beneath 
the  clinging  material  of  her  dress.  When  the  move- 
ment quickened,  she  stamped  her  feet  faster,  still  without 
moving  from  where  she  stood,  as  if  in  haste  to  reach  a 
lover's  rendezvous,  where  languor  would  replace  activity. 

Seated  a  few  steps  from  the  dancer,  a  young  gipsy, 
with  a  vague,  dreamy  expression,  was  pounding  with 
his  fist,  thinking  of  other  things  the  while,  upon  a  large 
tambourine,  to  which  amulets  of  divers  kinds  were  at- 
tached,— Egyptian  beetles,  mother-of-pearl  shells,  finger- 
rings,  and  great  ear-rings, — which  danced  up  and  down 
as  he  played. 

And  the  tambourine  seemed  to  say  to  the  double 
flute: 

"  Never  fear  :  your  mate  is  watching  over  you.  I  am 
here,  father  or  betrothed,  I,  your  strong-voiced  mate, 
and  you  can  sing  freely  of  your  joy  and  sorrow  ;  no  one 
shall  disturb  you ;  I  am  on  the  watch,  and  for  you  my 
heart  beats  in  my  great,  sonorous  breast." 

But  to  the  gipsy's  ear  the  music  of  the  tambourine 
said  something  very  different ;  and  with  a  smile  upon 
her  lips,  blowing  into  her  flute  with  its  diverging  reeds, 
raising  and  lowering  her  slender  fingers  over  the  holes, 
Zinzara,  exerting  a  subtle  influence  over  all  about  her, 


156  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

dressed  in  soft  rags  that  clung  tightly  to  her  form  and 
marked  the  outlines  of  her  hips  and  of  her  breast  in 
turn  ;  displaying  her  tawny  calves  beneath  her  skirts, 
which  were  lifted  up  and  tucked  into  her  belt, — Zinzara 
seemed  not  to  see  the  spectators. 

Twenty  or  thirty  people  were  looking  at  her,  and 
still  she  seemed  to  be  dancing  for  her  own  amusement ; 
but  her  witch's  eye  followed,  without  seeming  to  do  so, 
the  slightest  movement  of  Renaud's  head,  the  whole  of 
which  could  be  seen  at  times  between  the  serge  curtains 
with  red  borders,  behind  the  windows  of  the  wine-shop, 
under  the  eaves  of  the  house  across  the  way. 

When  she  saw  Livette  approach,  the  dancer  beat  her 
feet  upon  the  ground  more  rapidly,  as  if  annoyed,  and 
the  flute  emitted  a  cry,  a  shrill  war-cry,  like  the  sound 
made  by  tearing  silk  quickly. 

Livette  involuntarily  shuddered,  but  she  mingled 
with  the  group,  momentarily  increasing  in  size,  and 
looked  on. 

Zinzara  made  a  sign,  and  uttered  some  strange,  gut- 
tural words  between  two  loud  notes — words  that  were, 
evidently,  a  precise  command,  for  a  gipsy  child,  who 
had  come  to  her  side  a  moment  before,  glided  under  the 
wagon,  whence  he  emerged  armed  with  a  long  white 
stick,  with  which  he  motioned  to  the  spectators  to  fall 
back  a  little.  Then  he  stationed  himself  in  front  of 
Zinzara,  in  the  centre  of  the  first  row  of  spectators, 
and,  turning  toward  them,  enjoined  silence  upon  them 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  157 

by  placing  his  finger  on  his  lips.  The  word  was  passed 
along,  and  the  bystanders  ceased  their  conversation, 
realizing  that  something  was  about  to  happen. 

The  dance  was  at  an  end. — The  tambourine  ceased 
to  beat  time.  The  flute  alone  sang  on  in  Zinzara's 
hands,  as  her  fingers  moved  slowly  up  and  down. — 
Now  it  gave  forth  a  thin,  clear  note,  like  the  prolon- 
gation of  the  sound  made  by  a  drop  of  water  falling 
in  a  fountain ;  it  was  a  sweet,  insinuating  appeal,  as 
melancholy  as  the  croaking  of  a  frog  at  night,  on  the 
shores  of  a  pond,  at  the  bottom  of  an  echoing,  rocky 
valley. 

And,  with  the  end  of  his  wand,  the  child  pointed 
out  to  one  of  the  spectators  something  that  came  crawl- 
ing out  from  under  the  wagon.  It  was  a  tiny  snake, 
with  red  and  yellow  spots,  and  it  drew  near,  evidently 
attracted  by  the  notes  of  the  flute.  Another  followed, 
and  soon  there  were  several  of  them — five  in  all. 

When  they  were  in  front  of  the  flute-player,  between 
her  and  the  boy  with  the  wand,  they  raised  their  heads 
and  waved  them  back  and  forth,  slowly  at  first,  then 
more  quickly,  keeping  time  with  the  flute.  The  serpents 
danced,  and  the  mind  of  every  spectator  involuntarily 
compared  their  dance  with  the  woman's  that  he  had 
seen  a  moment  before.  There  was  the  same  undu- 
lating movement,  the  same  evil  charm,  and  every  one 
was  conscious  of  an  uncomfortable  feeling  at  the 
sight. 


158  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Livette,  surprised  and  strangely  moved,  thought  that 
she  was  dreaming.  The  spectacle  before  her  was  curi- 
ously, deplorably  in  accord  with  the  state  of  her  heart. 
She  did  not  understand  its  hidden,  intimate  connection 
with  her  own  destiny,  but  she  felt  its  baleful  effects. 
Zinzara's  glance,  from  time  to  time,  swept  over  the 
girl's  face,  but  did  not  rest  upon  it.  On  the  subject  of 
her  own  influence,  Zinzara  knew  what  she  knew. 

Soft,  soft  as  spun  silk,  the  notes  of  the  flute  arose, 
very  soft  and  prolonged,  like  threads  extending  from 
the  instrument  and  winding  about  the  necks  of  the 
little  snakes ;  and  the  little  snakes  followed  the  notes 
of  the  flute,  which  drew  them  on  and  on.  Zinzara 
walked  backward.  The  little  snakes  followed  her  as  if 
they  were  held  fast  by  the  notes  of  the  flute  as  by  silken 
threads.  The  gipsy  stopped,  and  the  notes  grew  shorter, 
so  to  speak,  like  the  threads  one  winds  about  a  bobbin. 
Then  the  snakes  approached  the  sorceress,  and  as  Zin- 
zara stooped  slowly  over  them,  and  put  down  her  hands, 
still  holding  the  flute,  upon  which  she  did  not  cease  to 
play,  the  snakes  twined  themselves  about  her  bare  arms. 
Thence  one  of  them  climbed  up  and  wound  about  her 
neck,  letting  his  little  head,  with  its  wide  open  mouth 
and  quivering  tongue,  hang  down  upon  her  swelling 
breast.  And  when  she  stood  erect  again,  two  others 
were  seen  at  her  ankles,  above  the  rings  she  wore  on  her 
legs.  Then  she  laid  aside  her  flute  and  began  to  laugh. 
Her  laugh  disclosed  her  regular,  white  teeth. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  159 

"  Now,"  said  she,  "  if  any  one  will  give  me  his  hand, 
I  will  tell  his  fortune!  " 

But  no  hand  was  put  forward  to  meet  hers  because  of 
the  little  snakes. 

Zinz'ara  laughed  aloud,  and  her  laugh,  in  very  truth, 
recalled  certain  notes  of  her  double  flute. 

At  that  moment,  Livette  started  to  walk  away. 

"Come,  you!"  said  the  gipsy  quickly, — "you  re- 
fused to  listen  to  me  once,  but  to-day  you  must  be  very 
anxious  to  find  out  where  your  lover  is,  my  beauty  ! 
Give  me  your  hand  without  fear,  if  you  are  worthy  to 
become  the  wife  of  a  brave  horseman." 

Livette  blushed  vividly.  Her  two  young  friends 
arrived  just  then  and  heard  what  was  said.  "  Don't 
you  do  it !  "  said  one  of  them  in  an  undertone,  pulling 
Livette's  skirt  from  behind ;  but,  Livette,  annoyed  by 
the  gipsy's  expression,  in  which  she  fancied  that  she 
could  detect  a  touch  of  mockery,  put  out  her  hand,  not 
without  a  mental  prayer  for  protection  to  the  sainted 
Marys,  The  gipsy  took  the  proffered  hand  in  her  own. 
The  snakes  put  out  their  forked  tongues.  Livette  was 
somewhat  pale. 

They  were  both  very  small,  the  fortune-teller's  hand 
and  the  maiden's. 

Renaud  looked  on  from  above  with  all  his  eyes, 
greatly  surprised  and  a  little  disturbed  in  mind. 

The  gipsy  held  Livette's  hand  in  her  own  a  moment, 
exulting  to  feel  the   palpitations  of  the  bird  she  was 


l6o  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

fascinating.     She  had  hoped  to  intimidate  Livette,  and 
the  courage  the  girl  displayed  annoyed  her. 

"Your  future  husband  isn't  far  away,  my  beauty," 
said  she,  "  but  he  is  not  here  on  your  account,  never 
fear  !     On  whose,  then?     That  is  for  you  to  guess  !  " 

Livette,  already  somewhat  pale,  became  as  white  as 
a  ghost, 

"That  alone,  I  fancy,  is  of  interest  to  you,  my  pretty 
sweetheart !  Then  I'll  say  no  more  to  you  except  this : 
Beware ;  the  serpent  on  my  left  wrist  just  whispered 
something  to  me.     Look  well  to  your  love  !  " 

A  shudder  ran  through  the  spectators  like  a  ripple 
over  the  surface  of  a  swamp.  One  of  the  snakes  was, 
in  fact,  hissing  gently. 

The  gipsy  released  Livette's  hand ;  as  the  girl  turned 
to  go  away,  she  came  face  to  face  with  Rampal.  He 
had  been  wandering  about  the  village  since  early  morn- 
ing, and  had  just  joined  the  group,  unseen  by  any  one, 
even  by  Renaud. 

Livette  recoiled  instinctively  and  in  such  a  marked 
way  that  Rampal  might  well  have  taken  it  for  an 
affront.  Unfortunately,  having  left  the  front  row,  she 
was  hemmed  in  by  the  crowd  on  all  sides  of  her. 

"Oho!  young  lady,"  said  Rampal,  "so  we  don't 
recognize  our  friends!  " 

"Good-day,  good-day,  Rampal,"  replied  Livette, 
repeating  the  salutation  as  the  custom  is  in  the  prov- 
ince;   "but  let  me  pass!     Make  room  for  me,  I  say  !  " 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  i6l 

''Sur  le  pont  d' Avignon,'"  sang  the  gipsy,  with  a 
laugh,  '•'  tout  le  mojide  paye  passage  J  ^^  ^ 

Renaud,  still  behind  his  window,  had  at  last  recog- 
nized Rampal.  Fuming  with  rage,  but  naturally  wary, 
he  considered  whether  he  should  rush  down  at  once  and 
attack  him  or  wait  until  Livette  had  gone. 

Rampal  did  not  always  need  a  pretext  to  kiss  a  pretty 
girl, — but  here  was  one  ready-made  for  him  ! 

"Do  you  hear,  demoiselle?"  said  he.  "You  must 
pay  the  tollman  of  your  own  accord,  or  else  he  will  pay 
himself!" 

He  threw  both  arms  about  the  poor  child's  waist. 
She  bent  back,  holding  her  body  and  her  head  as  far 
away  from  him  as  possible,  but  the  rascal,  hot  of  breath, 
holding  her  firmly  and  forcing  her  a  little  closer,  kissed 
her  twice  full  upon  the  lips. 

A  fierce  oath  was  uttered  behind  them  in  the  air. 
Everybody  turned,  and,  looking  up,  discovered  Renaud 
shaking  the  old-fashioned  window,  which  was  reluctant 
to  be  opened.  Two  more  wrenches  and  the  window 
yielded,  flew  suddenly  open  with  a  great  noise  of  break- 
ing glass,  and  Renaud,  standing  on  the  sill,  leaped  to 
the  ground. 

"Ah!  the  beggar!  the  beggar!  where  is  the  vile 
cur?" 

But  Rampal  had  already  leaped  upon  his  horse  that 
was  hitched  near  by  to  the  bars  of  a  low  window,  and 
was  off  at  a  gallop. 

■f 


i62  KING   OF  CAMARGUE 

He  rode  as  if  he  were  riding  a  race,  half-standing  in 
his  stirrups,  his  body  bent  forward,  and  plying  inces- 
santly and  very  rapidly  a  thong  that  was  made  fast  to 
his  wrist,  and  that  drove  his  horse  wild  by  the  way  it 
whistled  about  his  ears. 

"  Coward  !  coward  !  "  one  of  the  young  men  present 
could  not  refrain  from  shouting  after  him. 

"  Coward  .■*  oh  !  no  !  "  said  Renaud — "simply  a  thief! 
for  if  he  weren't  riding  a  horse  he  never  intends  to 
return,  the  fellow  wouldn't  run  away — I  know  him  !  " 

He  turned  to  poor,  frightened  Livette. 

"Never  fear,  demoiselle,"  said  he,  "he  shall  not 
carry  our  horse  to  paradise  with  him." 

Was  it  Renaud's  purpose,  in  saying  this,  to  make  the 
gipsy  think  that  he  was  bent  upon  taking  vengeance  for 
the  theft  of  his  horse  rather  than  for  the  insult  put  upon 
his  fiancee?  Perhaps  so;  but  the  devil  is  so  cunning 
that  Renaud  himself  had  no  idea  that  he  was  capable 
of  such  craft. 

As  to  the  gipsy,  she  said  to  herself  that  Renaud,  by 
jumping  out  of  the  window,  instead  of  coming  quietly 
down  the  stairs,  had  compromised  his  prospects  of  re- 
venge for  the  satisfaction  of  exhibiting  his  gipsy-like 
agility  to  her.  He  did,  in  truth,  jump  like  a  wild  cat, 
and  rebound  as  if  he  were  equipped  with  elastic  paws ! 
He  was  as  agile  as  a  true  zingaro  /  He  was  as  handsome 
and  bold  as  a  highwayman  !  They  are  gipsies,  to  all 
intents,  these  wandering  guardians  of  mares  and  heifers ! 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  163 

Renaud,  who  had  disappeared  long  enough  to  buckle 
his  horse's  girth,  rode  by  in  a  few  moments  upon  Prince; 
the  witnesses  of  the  scene  just  enacted  were  still  discuss- 
ing it. 

"Catch  him!  catch  him!  eat  him,  King!"  cried 
twenty  young  men's  voices  in  chorus. 

"With  the  King  and  the  Prince  arrayed  against  him, 
Rampal  is  a  dead  man,"  some  one  remarked,  with  a 
laugh. 

Renaud  was  already  at  a  distance.  He  had  not  looked 
at  the  gipsy,  but  he  felt  that  her  eyes  were  upon  him, 
and  he  felt  now  that  they  were  following  him  from 
afar;  and  the  feeling  caused  a  pleasurable  thrill,  of 
which  he  was  conscious,  and  for  which  he  reproved 
himself  vaguely  on  Livette's  account,  but  without  seek- 
ing to  repress  it.  Yes,  as  he  galloped  along  in  his 
wrath,  he  galloped  in  a  particular  way  in  order  that 
his  wrath  might  show  to  good  advantage,  so  that  he 
might  appear  a  handsome  and  graceful  horseman,  as 
he  was  in  fact.  He  was  conscious  of  every  move- 
ment that  he  made — he  fancied  that  he  could  see  him- 
self, and  was  desirous  to  make  a  good  appearance,  he, 
the  King ! 

The  peacock,  in  the  mating  season,  has  more  gorgeous 
plumage,  and  makes  the  greatest  possible  display  of  it. 
The  nightingale  and  the  redbreast  have  sweeter  voices. 
All  alike  take  pleasure  in  so  arraying  themselves  as  to 
give  pleasure. 


164  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

"Where  are  you  going,  Livette?"  her  two  friends 
asked  her. 

"I  am  going  to  see  monsieur  le  cure.  I  must  have 
a  talk  with  him,  poor  me  !  for  it  was  a  great  sin  to  listen 
to  that  sorceress,  you  know  ! ' ' 


XIV 

JOUSTING 

Both  Renaud  and  Rampal  had  spears. 

As  he  rode  by  the  Neuf  farm,  half  a  league  from 
Saintes-Maries,  Rampal,  who  owned  nothing  in  the 
world  but  his  saddle,  and  had  no  spear,  being  at  that 
time  simply  a  drover  out  of  a  job,  had  spied  one  leaning 
against  a  fig-tree,  and  had  appropriated  it  without  dis- 
mounting, had  "borrowed  it  without  a  word,"  thinking 
that  he  should  probably  need  it  to  defend  himself. 

Now  he  was  galloping  across  the  fields,  leaning  for- 
ward on  his  horse's  neck,  with  his  thong  in  his  boot 
and  the  spear  resting  in  the  stirrup. 

Renaud  had  mistaken  the  road  in  his  hot  pursuit. 
Perhaps  the  gipsy  was  the  cause  of  it,  for,  in  spite  of 
himself,  in  order  to  remain  within  her  range  of  vision, 
Renaud  had  ridden  straight  toward  the  Vaccares,  while 
Rampal  had  just  taken  the  road  to  Aries,  avoiding  strat- 
agem in  order  to  mislead  his  pursuer  more  effectually, 

for  he  said  to  himself  that  Renaud  would  surely  argue 

165 


l66  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

that  he  had  made  for  the  middle  of  the  island  to  take 
refuge  in  some  deserted  Jass. 

Renaud  divined  Rampal's  plan. 

"He  will  keep  to  the  road,"  he  suddenly  thought, 
and  feeling  certain  that  he  was  right,  he  turned  to  the 
left  and  rode  due  west.  Rampal,  having  the  start  of  him 
by  a  full  league,  drew  rein  in  the  vicinity  of  Grandes- 
Cabanes,  and  having  planted  his  spear-head  in  the 
ground,  rested  both  hands  upon  it,  then  placed  his  feet, 
one  after  the  other,  on  the  hind-quarters  of  his  horse, 
and  stood  there  for  some  moments,  scanning  the  plain 
behind  him.  Between  two  clumps  of  tamarisks  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  horseman,  like  a  flash  of  light,  or 
like  a  rabbit  scuttling  between  two  wild  thyme  bushes — 
Renaud,  beyond  question  !  Rampal  saw  that  Renaud, 
if  it  were  he,  was  about  to  take  to  the  road,  and  he 
himself  thereupon  left  it  and  rode  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion on  a  line  parallel  to  that  his  enemy  was  following 
in  the  distance.  When  Renaud  reached  the  road  and 
turned  into  it,  Rampal  had  the  Vaccares  in  front  of 
him,  and  there  he  turned  to  the  left  and  followed  the 
shore.  His  plan  was  to  cross  the  main  stream  of 
the  Rhone,  and  reach  the  Conscript's  Hut,  in  the 
middle  of  the  gargate,  the  spot  where  he  was  confident 
of  finding  safe  shelter  in  times  of  serious  danger.  Un- 
luckily for  him,  he  had  been  seen — when  he  was  standing 
on  his  horse  watching  his  man — by  a  fisherman  who  was 
crouching  on  the  edge  of  the  canal,  fishing  for  eels  with 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  167 

a  reed  and  a  short  line,  at  the  end  of  which  was  a  bunch 
of  worms,  strung  and  twisted  together. 

"  Have  you  seen  Rampal,  friend?  "  said  Renaud,  stop- 
ping his  horse  short  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  fisherman,  who 
was  just  about  changing  his  place. 

"Ah!  King,  are  you  the  man  who  is  looking  for 
him?"  said  the  fisherman,  an  old  man.  "If  he  has 
kept  to  the  road  he  took  to  get  away  from  you, — for  I 
saw  he  was  watching  some  one  behind  him, — he  ought 
to  be  on  the  shore  of  the  Vaccares  by  this  time,  and 
from  there,  if  he  doesn't  go  back  to  Saintes-Maries,  he 
will  surely  go  up  toward  Notre-Dame-d' Amour.  You 
have  a  good  horse,  and  you  can  catch  him  between  the 
Vaccares  and  the  Grand'  Mar. ' ' 

Renaud  darted  away  as  if  he  had  wings. 

After  an  hour  and  a  half  of  furious  riding, — he  was 
wise  enough,  however,  to  change  his  gait  several  times, — 
he  drew  rein,  a  little  discouraged ;  then,  after  a  brief 
halt  and  a  draught  of  brandy  from  the  flask  that  never 
left  his  holsters,  he  resumed  his  headlong  race — but  not 
until  he  had  thoughtfully  allowed  his  horse  to  drink  a 
swallow  of  water  from  the  canal. 

When  he  was  between  the  Grand'  Mar  swamp  and  the 
Vaccares,  he  found  his  own  drove  taking  their  midday 
rest  there,  under  the  guidance  of  Bernard,  his  young 
assistant. 

Horses  and  bulls  were  lying  motionless  on  the  shore 
of   the  Vaccares,  in  the  twofold  glare   from    sky  and 


l68  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

water,  for  it  was  well-nigh  noon,  and  the  light  was 
dazzling. 

Bernard  was  resting  likewise,  lying  on  his  back  with 
his  head  on  the  saddle,  not  far  from  his  horse,  which 
was  fettered  near  by,  learning  to  amble. 

In  front  of  Renaud  lay  the  pearl-gray  Vaccares, 
gleaming  like  a  huge  table  of  polished  steel,  in  the 
centre  of  which  a  veritable  white  islet  of  sea-mews  were 
sleeping,  motionless  as  statues. 

Behind  him  stretched  an  ashen-gray  plain,  which 
could  be  seen  only  in  spots — where  the  salt  emerged  in 
efflorescent  crystals — glistening  through  a  vast  violet  net- 
work of  flowering  saladelles ;  for  the  saladelles  spread 
out  in  broad,  graceful  tufts,  with  many  ramifications, 
but  without  foliage,  dotted  with  a  multitude  of  lilac 
blossoms,  between  which  the  ground  can  be  seen.  And 
farther  away  the  fields  of  glasswort  began,  with  their 
plump,  juicy  leaves;  they  are  a  beautiful  rich  green 
when  they  are  young,  but  the  salt  air  soon  turns  them 
blood-red,  so  that  the  oldest  and  those  nearest  the  sea 
are  the  darkest. 

Here  and  there  the  stunted  tamarisk,  with  its  gnarled 
trunk,  dotted  the  plain,  its  sparse  foliage  tinged  with 
pink  by  the  blossoms  hanging  in  tiny  clusters,  which, 
tiny  though  they  be,  are  a  heavy  burden  for  its  flexible 
branches. 

And  in  the  dry,  seamy  bottoms  were  great  j)atches  of 
siagnes,   triangles,   apa'iuns  of   every   kind,  cancans  or 


mmtn  x^yj 


Two  minutes  later,  powerless  to  control  their  ener- 
vated beasts,  excited  as  they  loere  by  the  struggle  and 
the  %vi7id,  the  two  adversaries  rode  at  full  speed  through 
the  drove. 


KING  OF  CAA\ARGUt 
for  it  was  well-nigh  noon 


Bernard  was  resting  likewise  on  his  back  with 

his  head  on  the  saddle,  not  I'^r  irom  his  horse,  which 
was  fettered  near  by,  lear^n  :  to  amble. 

In   front    of    Renaud  le    pearl-gray  Vaccares, 

I    polished  steel,  in   the 
■ite  islet  of  sea-mews  were 


gleaming  like  a  huge   i 
centre  of  which  a  veritai 


sleeping,  motionl^js^  ^^ijll^ 

Behind  him  stretch;  an  ashen-gray  plain,  which 
could  be  seen  only  in  <'-  M*; — where  the  salt  emerged  in 
efflc 


^\■or 


orescent  crv'stals—       ,      ng  through  a  vast  violei  net- 

.  ,.rk  i.f  tlDWtfing  o?:-;     I'us ;  lor  the  y(7/(Z//fc'//^i-  spread 
^'r)Tit  L'^*!  rcv.iT,   irhicef.iT  tiffts,  with   many  ramifications, 


blossoms,  between  wh 
farther  away  the   fie 
plump,   juicy  leaves : 
when  they  are  young, 
Mood-red,  '^     ■^'''f   ''v"  ■  ' 
are  the  dat 

Here  auu     ,.  .^  the  st- 
•  -  ,,,i-    ,iotf.  .1  (■-,«  plain, 

tiny  though  they  be,  are  a 
branches. 

And  in  the  liiv,  m-vuh 
n'anj^les,   apaiun 


the  ground  can  be  se^S??''^^  ^^d 

glasswort  began,  with  their 

are  a   beautiful    rich   green 

:he  salt  air  soon  turns  them 

'  ■  f  and  those  nearest  tht^  ^ra 


tamarisk,  with  its  gnarled 

arse   foliage  tinged  with 

•n  tiny  clusters,  which, 

T-i"'-;  for  its  flexible 


<:>t 


•  H  1  i 


,/^^' 


$u%f^  ;Bwiv/ 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  169 

dwarf  reeds  used  in  making  roofs  and  matting,  thorn - 
broom  and  all  sorts  of  aquatic  plants,  bright  green,  and 
straight  as  fields  of  grain ;  their  angular  battalions, 
harvested  in  summer,  go  down  before  the  scythe  in 
broad  half-circles.  Above  these  patches  of  verdure, 
which  bend  and  rustle  with  the  faintest  breath  of  air, 
hovered  dragon-flies  with  enormous  heads, — swallow- 
like insects,  voracious  devourers  of  gnats.  They  flew 
about  with  the  swallows  over  the  waters  where  the  mos- 
quito is  born,  making  a  metallic  sound  among  the  reeds 
when  their  wings  of  transparent,  black-veined  mica 
came  in  contact  with   them. 

Renaud  gazed  at  these  familiar  things  and  forgot  him- 
self in  them.  For  a  second  he  fancied  that  he  was 
watching  his  drove  there,  and  that  he  had  nothing  else 
to  do  but  remain  with  his  beasts,  absorbed,  as  they 
were,  in  calm,  unreasoning  contemplation  of  the  desert 
that  surrounded  him.  He  ceased  to  love,  to  hate,  to 
desire,  and  to  pursue. 

The  shadow  of  wings  passed  him  by.  He  raised  his 
eyes  and  saw,  above  his  head,  two  red  flamingoes. 

"They  built  their  nest  here  this  year,"  he  thought. 

But  Prince,  the  good  horse,  had  recognized  his  favor- 
ite mares,  and,  stretching  out  his  neck,  opening  his 
nostrils  wide  to  inhale  the  fresh  breeze  of  the  swamp 
and  the  plain,  raising  his  lips  and  displaying  his  teeth, 
he  gave  a  neigh  that  made  all  the  mares  spring  to  their 
feet  at  a  single  bound,  the  bulls  raise  their  heads,  and 


lyo  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Bernard  himself  jump  up  from  the  ground,  spear  in 
hand. 

Renaud,  pressing  his  knees  together  and  pulling  his 
horse  back,  held  him  in  hand,  although  he  trembled 
under  him  and  pranced  up  and  down  in  the  soft 
sand. 

At  the  same  time,  a  sudden  gust  of  the  viistral  swept 
across  the  plain  and  broke  the  mirror-like  surface  of  the 
Vaccares  into  little  waves. 

"If  it  is  Rampal  you  are  looking  for,"  said  Bernard, 
"he  isn't  faraway, you  may  be  sure.  When  he  saw  me 
here,  all  of  a  sudden — just  a  moment  ago — he  rode  off 
that  way.  And  as  he  went  out  of  my  sight  very  soon,  I 
believe  he  has  gone  into  some  cabin.  You  had  better 
look  around  the  Mejeane  tower." 

Renaud  was  off  again. 

Suddenly  his  eyes  fell  upon  a  low  cabin  with  its  rush- 
covered  roof,  shaped  like  a  pyramid,  or  like  a  stack  of 
straw,  and  surmounted,  as  they  all  are,  by  its  wooden 
cross,  bending  back  as  if  the  mistral  were  gradually 
blowing  it  over. 

The  thought  came  to  him:  "Rampal  is  there!  His 
horse  must  be  tired.  He  retraced  his  steps  a  short 
distance  without  Bernard's  seeing  him,  and  went  into 
hiding  there — hoping  that  I  should  be  thrown  off  the 
scent  and  would  ride  by.     Yes,  he  is  surely  there!  " 

Renaud  turned  about,  and  rode  straight  toward  the 
cabin,    keeping  a  sharp  lookout ;   whereupon  Rampal, 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  171 

who  was  really  hidden  there,  watching  his  pursuer 
through  the  holes  in  the  wall,  rushed  out,  frightening 
an  owl  that  flew  away  in  dismay,  and  leaped  upon  his 
horse  which  was  browsing  in  hobbles  near  by,  but  out 
of  sight,  at  the  bottom  of  a  ditch. 

The  mistral,  which  comes  like  a  cannon-ball  when  it 
makes  up  its  mind  to  blow  at  that  time  of  day,  suddenly 
began  to  roar.  Renaud  had  put  his  head  down  to  meet 
the  squall,  so  that  he  did  not  perceive  this  manoeuvre 
of  the  enemy. 

So  it  was  that  Rampal  seemed  suddenly  to  come  up 
out  of  the  ground,  not  twenty  feet  from  Renaud,  who 
was  not  taken  by  surprise,  however,  but  rushed  at  him, 
brandishing  his  spear,  for  all  the  world  like  one  of  the 
knights  of  the  time  of  Saint  Louis,  of  whom  our  legends 
tell.     (Aigues-Mortes  was  then  in  its  prime.) 

But  Camargue  is,  as  every  one  knows,  the  mother  of 
the  mistral — the  vast  sunny  plain,  with  Crau,  which, 
after  sending  the  air  up  by  dint  of  overheating  it,  is 
compelled  to  summon  other  air  in  order  to  breathe  at 
all.  And  thereupon,  down  the  Rhone  valley,  at  the 
summons  of  the  desert,  comes  a  torrent  of  fresh  air, 
which  is  the  companion  of  the  river,  and  is  called  the 
mistral.  It  roared  through  Renaud' s  open  vest  as  in 
the  belly  of  a  sail,  and,  taking  Prince  side\vise,  kept 
him  back  a  little.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to  leap  the 
ditch.  That  gave  the  advantage  to  Rampal,  who  was 
now  trotting  freely  along,  face  to  the  wind. 


172  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

The  ditch  was  now  between  the  two  men,  and  Ram- 
pal's  only  purpose  in  trotting  along  the  edge  of  it  was 
to  limber  up  his  horse's  legs.  Renaud,  abandoning  the 
idea  of  crossing  the  ditch  for  the  moment,  decided  to 
follow  along  on  his  side.  The  two  horsemen  rode  thus 
for  a  few  moments.  Rampal  had  prudently  protected 
his  face  from  the  mistral  with  a  red  silk  handkerchief, 
the  ends  of  which  flapped  about  his  neck. 

Suddenly,  taking  advantage  of  a  spot  where  the  banks 
came  somewhat  nearer  together,  Renaud  lifted  his  horse 
and  landed  on  the  other  side  of  the  ditch  at  the  very 
instant  that  Rampal,  having  executed  the  same  manoeuvre 
in  the  opposite  direction,  landed  on  the  side  Renaud 
had  left. 

Renaud  did  not  find  a  favorable  spot  for  crossing  at 
once,  and  Rampal  gained  upon  him. 

Having  at  last  crossed  the  obstacle  once  more,  Renaud 
pursued  Rampal  at  full  speed,  and  so  rapidly  that,  when 
Rampal  turned  to  judge  the  distance  between  them,  he 
saw  Renaud  hardly  fifty  paces  behind  him. 

He  had  just  time  to  turn  about,  and  waited  for  his  foe, 
with  lance  in  rest,  leaning  forward  in  his  saddle,  his  feet 
planted  firmly  in  the  broad  stirrups. 

Renaud,  unluckily,  was  charging  against  the  mistral. 
A  sort  of  hail,  consisting  of  sand  and  of  the  little  snails 
that  cling  in  myriads  to  the  leaves  of  the  cngancs,  beat 
into  his  face  and  angered  him. 

Five  hundred  feet  away,  Bernard  was  looking  on — not 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  173 

saying  a  word,  for  fear  of  Rampal,  but  praying  fer- 
vently for  Renaud,  and  he  fancied  that  he  was  watching 
two  champions  standing  on  the  long  ladders  in  the  prows 
of  the  jousting  boats,  with  their  lances  held  firmly  under 
their  right  arms.  Rampal's  spear,  being  suddenly  low- 
ered too  far  by  a  false  step  of  his  horse,  pricked  the 
heel  of  Renaud' s  boot  and  grazed  Prince's  flank,  where- 
upon he  jumped  violently  aside,  as  if  he  were  avoiding 
the  horns  of  a  heifer. 

Renaud's  spear  tore  the  sleeve  of  his  enemy's  blue 
shirt  and  carried  away  the  piece. 

The  horsemen  met  and  passed  each  other. 

Rampal  was  the  first  to  turn,  and  rode  after  Renaud, 
ready  to  strike  him  from  behind,  while  he  was  struggling 
to  stop  Prince,  who  had  acquired  too  much  momentum ; 
and  Prince,  hearing  the  othef  horse's  hurried  step,  and 
feeling  his  hot  breath  behind  him,  furious  at  being  held 
back,  fearing  that  he  would  be  overtaken,  turned  about 
so  quickly  and  unexpectedly  in  his  wrath,  that  Rampal 
took  fright  and  turned  again,  but  involuntarily. 

Renaud,  finding  that  his  pursuer  had  once  more 
become  a  fugitive,  gave  Prince  a  free  rein. 

The  stallion  was  off  like  the  wind. 

The  horsemen  sped  along,  pushed  on  by  the  gusts, 
the  wind  being  now  behind  them. 

The  mares  and  heifers,  the  whole  drove,  in  fact,  stood 
with  their  heads  in  the  air,  staring  eyes,  and  nostrils 
distended,  watching  the   two  men   come  down  toward 


174  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

them,  bending  over  their  horses'  necks,  reins  flying,  as 
if  pursued  by  the  tempest  along  the  shores  of  the  pond, 
whose  waters  were  dancing  and  rippling  in  the  wind. 

Here  and  there  the  little  tamarisks,  bent  almost  double, 
seemed  likewise  to  be  fleeing  from  the  storm.  There 
were  no  more  gnats  or  dragon-flies  in  the  air.  Above 
the  Vaccares  the  spray  was  flying.  The  mistral  swept 
everything  clean. 

Two  minutes  later,  powerless  to  control  their  ener- 
vated beasts,  excited  as  they  were  by  the  struggle  and 
the  wind,  the  two  adversaries  rode  at  full  speed  through 
the  drove. 

Thereupon,  inflamed  by  the  sight  of  their  two  stallions 
racing  madly  by,  alarmed  at  the  sight  of  the  waving 
spears,  intoxicated  by  the  wild  wind  that  found  a  way 
into  their  bodies  through  their  fiery  nostrils,  the  mares 
neighed  and  reared  and  started  off  together  on  the 
gallop.  The  heifers  followed.  Hundreds  of  hoofs  and 
cloven  feet  beat  the  ground  with  a  noise  like  the  roaring 
of  a  tempest,  and  the  whole  drove,  lashed  by  the  mistral, 
which  howled  behind  them,  biting  them  and  urging 
them  forward,  rolled  across  the  plain  like  a  second 
Rhone.  And  while  Bernard  was  saddling  his  horse  in 
hot  haste  to  overtake  them,  the  two  enemies  galloped 
in  the  midst  of  the  hurricane  as  if  borne  on  by  the 
stamping  of  eighty  beasts,  whose  hoofs  raised  clouds  of 
sand  and  showers  of  spray  and  mud  in  the  wind  that 
travelled  faster  than  thev  ! 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  175 

At  the  head  of  this  whirlwind,  and  still  in  the  midst 
of  it,  Renaud  succeeded  in  overtaking  Rampal.  When 
he  was  near  enough  to  touch  him,  he  selected  the  pre- 
cise moment  when  his  horse  was  raising  his  left  hind 
foot,  to  strike  him  on  the  right  hind-quarter.  The  right 
leg,  just  as  it  was  about  to  strike  the  ground,  bent  double 
under  the  blow  of  a  spear  directed  by  a  man  riding  at 
a  gallop,  and  Rampal  and  his  horse  rolled  over  among 
the  countless  galloping  hoofs  that  shook  the  earth. 

Bulls  and  horses  leaped  over  the  two  bodies  lying 
there,  man  and  beast,  and  when  the  drove,  tired  and 
subdued,  came  to  a  stop  half  a  league  farther  on, 
Renaud,  still  riding  Prince,  was  holding  by  the  bridle 
his  recaptured  horse,  bleeding  only  in  the  flank  and  at 
the  nose. 

Standing  beside  him,  with  rage  in  his  heart,  stained 
with  mud  and  dust,  his  face  bleeding  and  the  skin  torn 
from  the  palms  of  the  hands,  Rampal,  red  as  fire,  was 
occupied  in  rearranging  his  breeches  and  fastening  his 
belt. 

"  Wait  till  next  time,  Renaud  !  After  this  you  would 
expect  a  man  to  seek  revenge,  eh?" 

But  his  shrill  voice  was  drowned  in  the  howling  of  the 
mistral. 

"  Give  me  back  my  saddle !  "  he  shouted  in  a  louder 
tone. 

The  drover's  saddle  is  his  whole  fortune.  He  cher- 
ishes it,  loves  it,  takes  pride  in  it. 


176  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

' '  Your  saddle  ?' '  rejoiaed  Renaud  suspiciously.  '  *  Come 
with  me  and  get  it !     Bernard  will  give  it  to  you." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  without  another  word 
rode  after  the  drove,  leading  back  to  it  the  emaciated 
horse  which  Rampal  had  sadly  misused. 

He  was  extremely  glad  that  Blanchet  had  had  no 
part  in  this  duel.  He  recognized  Blanchet  from  afar 
in  among  the  mares,  but  sleeker  and  better  cared  for 
than  the  others.  A  true  lady's  horse,  staunch  as  he 
was ! — And  now  he  would  be  able  to  return  him  to  his 
mistress,  as  he  had  his  former  horse,  in  addition  to 
Prince.  And  his  nostrils  dilated  with  the  pride  of 
victory.  He  inhaled  long  draughts  of  the  bracing  salt 
air. 

He  was  thinking  of  two  women — yes,  of  two,  not  one 
only! — who  would  .say  of  him  when  they  heard  \\hat 
had  taken  place:  "That  is  a  man!"  And  Renaud's 
noble  horse  shared  his  master's  pride,  as  he  capered 
about,  in  the  liberty  accorded  him  to  choose  his  own 
pace,  with  the  proud  bearing  of  a  stallion  that  had  won 
the  race  in  the  sight  of  his  whole  drove. 


XV 


MONSIEUR   LE   CURE'S    ARCHEOLOGY 

The  cure  of  Saintes-Maries  was  a  man  of  about  sixty, 
well  preserved,  very  tall  and  stout,  with  bright  eyes 
whose  light  he  quenched  with  spectacles,  and  energetic 
gestures  which  he  purposely  restrained. 

The  parsonage  was  near  the  church,  the  doorway 
shaded  by  a  number  of  elms.  The  house,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  prevailing  custom  of  the  province,  was 
whitewashed  once  a  year,  outside  and  in,  like  the  houses 
of  the  Arabs. 

The  houses  in  Saintes-Maries  are  low.  The  streets 
are  narrow,  and  wind  about  to  escape  the  sun.  The 
shadows  under  the  awnings  of  the  little  shops  have  a 
bluish  cast.  In  front  of  the  doors,  which  open  on  the 
street,  hang  transparent  curtains  of  common  linen,  in 
some  cases  of  very  fine  net  work,  to  stop  the  flies  and 
admit  the  Ught  after  it  has  passed  through  the  sieve,  so 
to  speak.  And,  behind  them,  the  maidens  of  Saintes- 
Maries  are  confined  like  birdlings  in  a  cage,  or  like  very 

177 


lyS  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

dangerous  little  wild  beasts.  Are  not  all  maidens  to  be 
looked  upon  with  more  or  less  suspicion  ? 

The  maidens  of  Saintes-Maries  wear  the  Aries  head- 
dress and  the  neckerchief,  with  fold  upon  fold  held  in 
place  by  hundreds  of  pins,  by  as  many  pins  as  a  rose- 
bush has  thorns ;  and  where  the  thick  folds  of  the  hand- 
kerchief open,  in  the  depths  of  the  chapelle,  you  can 
see  the  little  golden  cross  gleaming  upon  the  firm  young 
flesh  rising  and  falling  with  the  maidenly  sigh.  The 
apron  worn  over  the  ample  skirt  seems  like  a  skirt  itself, 
it  is  so  broad  and  full,  and  slender  feet  peep  out  from  be- 
neath it,  as  agile  as  the  Camargue  partridge's  red  claws, 
that  love  to  scamper  swiftly  over  the  fields  to  escape 
the  hunter,  knowing  that  Camargue  is  broad  and  space 
is  plentiful. 

Many  are  the  pale  faces  at  Saintes,  for,  whatever  they 
may  say,  the  marshes  still  breed  fever,  and  this  country, 
to  which  people  come  to  be  miraculously  cured,  is, 
generally  speaking,  a  country  of  disease;  but  pallor 
goes  well  with  the  wavy  black  hair,  worn  in  broad  puffs 
on  the  temples  and  falling  upon  the  neck  in  two  heavy 
masses  which  are  turned  up  to  meet  the  chignon.  To 
help  them  to  forget  what  is  depressing  in  their  lives,  they 
resort,  here  as  elsewhere, .to  coquetry — and  the  rest! — 
And  then  they  are  accustomed  to  the  fever,  which  gives 
birth  to  dreams  and  visions ;  they  tame  it,  as  it  were ;  it 
is  not  cruel  to  the  people  it  knows,  and  docs  not  lead 
them  to  the  cemetery  until  they  are  old  and  gray. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  179 

The  cemetery  is  a  few  steps  from  the  village,  a  kw 
steps  from  the  sea.  It  lies  at  the  foot  of  the  sand- 
dunes,  surrounded  by  a  low  wall.  The  dead  and  gone 
villagers  of  Saintes-Maries  lie  sleeping  there  between 
the  sea  and  the  desert  of  Camargue :  many  fishermen 
who  lived  in  their  flat-bottomed  boats;  many  herds- 
men who  lived  on  horseback  in  the  plain. 

All  of  them  alike  find  there,  in  death,  the  things 
amid  which  their  lives  have  been  passed :  the  salt  sand, 
filled  with  tiny  shells,  the  engaties  that  grow  in  spite  of 
everything,  reddened  by  the  salt-laden  winds,  and  heavy 
with  soda, — and  the  thin  shadow  of  the  pink-plumed 
tamarisk.  There  they  hear  the  neighing  of  the  wild 
mares,  the  shouts  of  the  herdsmen  contending  on  the 
race-course  on  fete-days,  or  stirring  up  the  black  bulls 
in  the  arena  under  the  walls  of  the  church.  They  hear 
the  sails  flapping,  and  the  han  of  the  bare-legged  fisher- 
men pushing  their  flat-bottomed  boats  or  barges  into 
the  water ;  and  night  and  day,  the  pounding  of  the  sea 
in  its  efforts  to  push  back  the  island  of  Camargue,  while 
the  Rhone,  on  the  other  hand,  is  constantly  pushing  it 
into  the  sea,  and  adding  to  its  bulk  with  mud  and  stones 
brought  down  from  its  head-waters.  The  sea  smites  the 
island  as  if  it  would  have  none  of  it,  but  all  in  vain, — 
it,  too,  can  but  augment  its  size  with  the  sand  it  casts  up. 

And  the  sand  from  the  sea  makes  a  broad  hem  of 
dunes  along  the  shores  of  Camargue. 

No  one  can  fail  to  see  that  the  dunes,  those  shifting, 


l8o  KING  OF  CAAIARGUE 

tomb-like  hills  of  sand,  must  have  served  as  models  for 
the  massive  pyramids,  the  tombs  of  kings,  in  the  Egyp- 
tian desert. 

At  the  feet  of  the  little  pyramids  of  sand  sleep  the 
dead  of  Camargue. 

But  whither  has  the  thought  of  death  led  us?  Why 
do  we  tarry  here,  while  Livette  is  timidly  lifting  the 
knocker  at  monsieur  le  cure's  door? 

The  blow  echoed  within  the  house,  in  the  empty  hall. 
Livette  was  much  perturbed.  What  was  she  to  say? 
Where  should  she  begin  ?  The  beginning  is  always  the 
most  difficult  part.  She  would  like  to  run  away  now, 
but  it  is  too  late.  She  hears  steps  inside.  Marion,  the 
old  servant,  opens  the  door. 

Marion  has  a  practised  eye.  When  any  one  knocks 
at  Monsieur  le  cure's  door,  she  knows,  simply  by  exam- 
ining his  face,  what  he  wants,  and  frames  her  answers 
accordingly,  on  her  own  responsibility;  for  Monsieur 
le  cure  is  subject  to  rheumatism :  he  suffers  from  fever, 
too,  and  Marion  nurses  Monsieur  le  cure  !  If  he  listened 
to  Marion,  he  would  nurse  himself  so  carefully  that  all 
the  sick  people  would  have  to  die  unshriven,  without 
extreme  unction,  for  Marion  would  always  have  a  good 
reason  to  give  to  prevent  him  from  going  out  by  day  or 
night,  when  the  mistral  was  blowing  or  the  wind  was 
from  the  east,  summer  or  winter,  rain  or  shine. 

But  Monsieur  le  cure  would  smile  and  do  just  what  he 
chose.     He  was  a  good  priest.     He  never  failed  in  his 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  181 

duty.  He  loved  his  parishioners.  He  assisted  them  on 
all  occasions  with  his  purse  and  his  advice.  He  was 
beloved  by  them  all. 

He  loved  his  parishioners,  his  commune,  and  his  curi- 
ous church,  which  was  once  a  fortress ;  he  was  familiar 
with  the  shape  of  its  every  stone.  He  loved  it  both  as 
priest  and  as  archaeologist,  for  Monsieur  le  cure  is  a 
scholar,  and  his  church  is,  in  very  truth,  one  of  the 
most  interesting  monuments  in  France,  with  its  abnor- 
mally thick,  high,  and  threatening  walls,  crowned  with 
jutting  galleries  and  surmounted  by  crenelated  battle- 
ments, with  an  unobstructed  view  of  sea  and  land  in  all 
directions,  and  overlooked  by  four  turrets,  and  a  tower 
in  the  centre, — the  highest  of  all, — from  whose  belfry 
the  alarum  bell,  in  the  old  days,  often  aroused  the 
country-side,  repeating  in  its  shrillest  tones :  "  Here 
come  the  heathens,  good  people  of  Saintes-Maries ! 
Attention  !  Come  and  shut  yourselves  up  here  !  Make 
ready  your  arrows  and  the  boiling  oil  and  pitch  !  " — Or 
else:  "Hasten  to  the  shore,  good  people  of  Saintes- 
Maries  !     A  French  vessel  is  sinking  !  " 

And  to  this  day  it  seems  still  to  say,  to  all,  far  and 
near  :   ' '  I  see  you  !  I  see  you  !  ' ' 

One  could  go  on  forever  describing  the  church  of 
Saintes-Maries,  and  relating  anecdotes  concerning  it. 

Behind  the  battlements  at  the  top,  and  enclosing  the 
roof  of  flat  stones,  runs  a  narrow  pathway,  where  the 
archers  and  patrols  in  the  old  days  used  to  make  their 


l82  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

rounds,  surrounded  by  countless  sea-swallows.  Along 
the  ridge-pole  of  the  roof,  of  overlapping  broad  flat 
stones,  between  which  thick  tufts  of  nasques  are  growing, 
rises  a  high  carved  comb,  in  ogive-like  curves,  sur- 
mounted by  fleurs-de-lis. 

All  this  is  beautiful  and  grand,  but  there  is  a  little 
thing  of  which  the  villagers  are  as  proud  as  of  the  bell- 
tower  and  the  turrets,  and  that  is  a  marble  tablet,  about 
five  courses  in  length  by  three  in  height,  on  which  two 
lions  are  represented.  One  is  protecting  its  whelp ;  the 
other  seems  to  be  protecting  a  little  child,  as  if  it  were 
its  own  offspring.  It  seems  that  this  tablet  was  carved 
by  a  Greek  workman  long,  long  ago. 

The  marble  is  set  into  the  southern  wall  of  the  church, 
beside  the  small  door. 

You  enter.  The  ogive  arch  of  the  nave  compels  you 
to  raise  your  eyes  to  a  great  height.  And  as  you  enter 
by  the  main  door,  your  attention  is  attracted  by  a 
romanesque  arch,  directly  in  front  of  you,  at  the  far 
end  of  the  church,  at  least  five  metres  below  the  ogive 
arch  of  the  nave ;  in  the  centre  of  this  arch  are  the 
blessed  reliquaries,  resting  upon  the  sill  of  an  opening 
like  a  window,  flanked  by  two  columns.  From  that 
position  they  are  lowered  once  in  every  year  at  the  ends 
of  two  ropes. 

The  choir  is  some  few  feet  higher  than  the  flagging 
of  the  church.  It  is  reached  by  two  symmetrical  stair- 
cases, between  which  is  the  grated  door  leading  down 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  183 

into  Sara's  crypt.  That  door  you  can  see,  directly  in 
front  of  you,  at  the  end  of  the  passage  through  the 
centre  of  the  church,  between  the  rows  of  chairs.  One 
would  say  that  it  was  the  air-hole  of  a  dungeon. 

Down  below,  in  the  damp  crypt,  with  its  low  arched 
roof  and  naked  walls, — a  veritable  dungeon, — upon  a 
mutilated  marble  altar,  is  the  Httle  glass  shrine  con- 
taining the  relics  of  Saint  Sara,  the  patron  saint  of  the 
gipsies.  There,  amid  the  smoke  of  their  candles,  in  an 
atmosphere  made  foul  by  human  exhalations,  you  can 
see  them  once  a  year,  huddled  together  in  a  dense 
crowd,  mumbling  their  questionable  prayers. 

In  the  days  of  the  Saracen  invasions  this  crypt  served 
as  a  storehouse  for  supplies,  when  all  the  inhabitants  of 
the  little  village  were  forced  to  take  refuge  in  the  fortress- 
church. 

Aigues-Mortes  has  her  walls  and  her  Constance  Tower, 
massive  as  Babel ;  Nimes  has  her  Arena  and  her  Foun- 
tain— and  the  Pont  du  Gard,  superb  in  its  beauty,  is  also 
hers;  Avignon  her  bridges,  her  ramparts,  and  her  clocks 
with  figures  of  armed  men  to  strike  the  hours ;  Tarascon 
her  Chateau,  mirrored  in  the  Rhone ;  Baux  the  fantastic 
ruins  of  her  houses,  hollowed,  like  the  cells  of  a  bee-hive, 
out  of  the  solid  rock  of  the  hill-side ;  Montmajour  has 
her  tombs  of  little  children,  also  dug,  side  by  side,  in 
the  solid  rock,  and  to-day  filled  with  earth  and  flowers, 
like  the  troughs  at  which  doves  drink ;  Orange  has  her 
theatre  and  her  triumphal  arch;  Aries  has  her  theatre 


184  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

with  the  two  pillars  still  upright  in  the  centre ;  she  has 
Saint-Trophime,  too,  with  its  sculptured  facade  and  its 
Allee  des  Alyscamps,  bordered  with  Christian  sarcophagi 
and  lofty  poplars.  But  Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer  has  her 
church,  which  Monsieur  le  cure  would  not  give  for  all 
the  treasures  of  the  other  towns ! 

Marion  saw  plainly  that  Livette  was  depressed; 
Marion  was  touched  when  Livette  said:  "Imust  see 
Monsieur  le  cure,"  and  as  her  master  would  not  be 
seriously  discommoded,  there  being  no  occasion  for  him 
to  leave  the  house,  Marion  ushered  Livette  into  the 
parlor. 

It  was  a  whitewashed  room,  but  the  cure  had  trans- 
formed it  into  a  veritable  museum,  and  the  walls  were 
completely  hidden  behind  wooden  cabinets,  made  by 
himself,  and  all  filled  with  his  collections. 

There  were  pieces  of  antique  pottery  and  of  rainbow- 
hued  antique  glass.     There  were  old  medals. 

One  of  the  latter  attracted  Livette's  attention.  It 
represented  a  bull  in  the  act  of  falling ;  one  of  his  fore- 
legs had  given  way.  A  man,  his  conqueror,  had  seized 
him  by  the  horns.  That  Grecian  medal  was  struck 
centuries  upon  centuries  ago.  A  label  explained  it  to 
Livette,  who  thought  at  first  that  it  was  Renaud.  Life 
is  all  repetition. 

There  were  collections  of  plants  and  boxes  filled  with 
shells,  and  also  many  stuffed  birds,  all  the  varieties  found 
in  Camargue.     For  more  than  thirty  years,  fishermen 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  185 

and  hunters  had  presented  Monsieur  le  cure  with  curious 
objects  and  animals.  Here  was  an  otter  from  the  Rhone, 
there  a  beaver,  with  his  trowel-shaped  tail  and  hooked 
teeth.  It  is  a  question  of  serious  importance  whether 
the  beavers  do  not  injure  the  dikes  of  the  Rhone.  The 
important  point,  you  see,  is  that  the  water  from  the 
swamps  should  empty  into  the  river  or  the  sea  through 
the  canals,  which  run  in  all  directions.  Therefore,  the 
dikes  must  hold  firm  and  not  let  the  Rhone  overflow 
the  swamps.  And  the  beavers,  they  say,  destroy  the 
dikes.  They  gnaw  into  them  when  the  great  freshets 
come,  to  avoid  the  drift,  and  take  refuge  inside ;  and 
when  the  water  comes  in  after  them,  they  make  a  ver- 
tical hole  through  which  to  escape,  and  there  is  3'our 
dike,  undermined,  eaten  into  by  the  water !  That  is  a 
bad  state  of  affairs. 

Livette  raised  her  eyes.  A  reptile,  with  his  mouth 
open,  was  hanging  from  the  ceiling ;  he  was  very  fat, 
and  well  he  might  be  !  he  was  a  Httle  crocodile,  the  last 
one  killed  in  Camargue,  a  very  long  while  ago  ! 

In  every  nook  left  free  by  the  natural  curiosities  some 
pious  image  was  to  be  seen.  Here  the  two  Maries  in 
their  boat.  There  the  Holy  Women  wrapping  the  Christ 
in  his  shroud.  In  another  place,  Magdalen  at  La  Baume, 
kneeling  in  front  of  the  death's-head.  But  Livette  saw 
no  image  of  Saint  Sara. 

Livette  sat  down  and  waited.  Monsieur  le  cure  did 
not  come.     The  fact  was,  that  Monsieur  le  cure,  who 


lS6  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

had  already  written  two  monographs,  one  entitled  La 
Cure  de  Boismaux,  and  the  other  La  Villa  de  la  Mar, 
was  at  that  moment  at  work  upon  a  third :  Concord- 
ance of  the  Legends  of  the  Blessed  Maries,  with  this 
sub-title  :  Concerning  the  strange  and  regrettable  confusion 
that  seems  to  exist  between  Saint  Sara  and  Marie  the 
Egyptian. 

La  Cure  de  Boismaux  also  had  a  sub-title  :  Monograph 
concerning  the  domains  of  the  Chateau  d^ Avignon  in 
Camargue.  Monsieur  le  cure  recalled  the  fact  that  the 
domains  of  the  Chateau  d' Avignon  formerly  constituted 
a  separate  commune.  That  commune  naturally  had  a 
cure,  and  in  those  days  the  proprietor  of  the  Chateau 
d' Avignon  was  General  Miollis,  brother  of  the  Bishop 
of  Digne  mentioned  by  Monsieur  Victor  Hugo  in  Les 
Miserables  under  the  name  of  Myriel. 

In  a  special  chapter.  Monsieur  le  cure  sought,  to  no 
purpose,  to  find  a  reason,  telluric  or  otherwise,  for  the 
fact  that  the  estates  of  the  Chateau  d' Avignon  are  par- 
ticularly subject  to  invasion  by  locusts,  which  sometimes 
have  to  be  fought  in  Camargue,  as  in  Africa,  by  regi- 
ments. 

As  to  the  Concordance y  that  was  a  very  important  and 
very  necessary  work.  It  was  based,  in  great  measure, 
upon  the  authority  of  the  Black  Book.  That  Latin 
work,  preserved  in  the  archives  of  Saintes- Maries,  was 
written,  in  1521,  by  Vincent  Philippon,  who  signed  him- 
self:  2000  Philippon!^     (Jesus  himself  did  not  disdain 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  187 

the  pun.)     There  is  a  French  translation  of  the  Black 
Book.     It  was  published  in  1682,  and  begins  thus: 

'*  Au  nom  de  Dieu  mon  oeuvre  comancee 
Par  Jesus-Christ  soit  toujours  advancee. 
Le  Saint-Esprit  conduise  sagement 
Ma  main,  ma  plume,  et  mon  entendement."  * 

Here  follows  the  true  version  of  the  story  of  the  patron 
saints  of  Notre-Danie-de-la-Mer. 

Marie  Jacobe,  mother  of  Saint  James  the  Less,  Marie 
Salome,  mother  of  Saint  James  the  Greater  and  of  Saint 
John  the  Evangelist,  came  not  alone  to  the  shores  of 
Camargue.  The  boat  without  sail  or  oars  contained  also 
their  servants  Marcella  and  Sara,  Lazarus  and  all  his 
family,  and  several  of  the  Christ's  disciples. 

Monsieur  le  cure  would  prove,  with  documents  to 
sustain  him,  that  Mary  Magdalen  was  not  in  the  boat. 
She  came  to  Provence  by  some  other  means,  no  one 
can  say  by  what  miracle. 

With  the  exception  of  the  two  Maries  and  Sara,  all 
the  passengers  upon  the  miraculous  craft  dispersed  in 
different  directions,  preaching  and  making  converts. 

The  holy  women  did  not  leave  Camargue,  the  island 
in  the  Rhone,  divided  at  that  time  into  a  great  number 
of  small  islands  by  the  ponds — a  veritable  archipelago, 
called  Sticados  and  inhabited  by  heathens.  In  those 
days,  all  these  small  islands,  formed  by  the  swamps, 
were  covered  with  forests  and  filled  with  Avild  beasts. 
And  this  delta  of  the  Rhone  was  infested  with  crocodiles. 


i88  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Now,  a  long,  long  time  after  the  death  of  the  holy 
women,  a  hunter,  followed  by  his  dogs,  was  passing  over 
the  spot  where  they  lay  buried  in  unknown  graves ;  he 
fell  in  with  a  hermit  there,  beside  a  spring. 

"My  lord,"  said  the  hermit,  "I  had  a  revelation 
in  a  dream  last  night.  In  the  sand  beside  this  spring 
repose  the  bodies  of  three  sainted  women  !  " 

The  hunter  was  a  Comte  de  Provence.  His  palace 
was  at  Aries,  and  the  cure  had  every  reason  to  believe 
that  he  was  Guillaume  I.,  son  of  Boson  I.,  famous  for  his 
liberality  to  the  church. 

It  was  in  981.  This  Guillaume  had  overcome  the 
Saracens,  and  Conrad  I.,  King  of  Bourgogne,  his  suze- 
rain, loved  and  respected  him. 

The  prince,  having  listened  to  the  hermit's  tale,  rode 
away  musing  deeply ;  not  long  after,  he  returned  and 
caused  a  church  in  the  form  of  a  citadel  to  be  built  at 
that  point  of  the  coast,  in  the  very  centre  of  a  spacious 
enclosure  surrounded  by  moats. 

Then  he  made  known  throughout  Provence  that 
special  privileges  would  be  accorded  to  all  those  who 
should  build  houses  between  the  church  and  the  moat. 

Thus  was  founded  the  Villa-de-la- Mar — which  is  in 
fact  a  town  (ville),  although  it  is  too  often  spoken  of  as 
a  village,  under  its  other  name  of  Saintes-Maries. 

The  Comtes  de  Provence  have  always  granted  special 
privileges  to  the  town. 

Under  Queen  Jeanne,  a  guard  was  stationed  all  the 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  189 

time  at  the  top  of  the  church-tower  to  watch  the  ships 
and  make  signals.  Sentinels  were  obliged  to  call  to 
one  another  and  answer  every  hour  during  the  night. 
The  people  of  Saintes-Maries  were  also  exempted  by  the 
queen  from  payment  of  tolls  and  the  tax  upon  salt. 

Monsieur  le  cure  explains  all  these  things  in  his  book, 
which  is  very  interesting.  He  also  describes  therein, 
"as  in  duty  bound,"  the  discovery  of  the  sacred  bones. 
In  1448,  King  Rene,  being  then  at  Aix,  his  capital, 
heard  a  preacher  declare  that  Saintes  Marie- Jacobe  and 
Salome  were  certainly  buried  beneath  the  church  of 
Villa-de-la-Mar. 

Rene  at  once  consulted  his  confessor,  Pere  Adhemar, 
and  sent  a  messenger  to  the  Pope,  asking  that  he  be 
authorized  to  make  search  underground  in  the  church. 
The  authorization  was  given  in  the  month  of  June  in  the 
same  year.  The  Archbishop  of  Aix,  Robert  Damiani, 
presided  at  the  search. 

They  found  the  spring;  near  the  spring  was  an  earthen 
altar ;  at  the  foot  of  the  altar  a  marble  tablet  with  this 
inscription,  upon  which  the  good  cure  descants  at  great 
length : 

D.  M. 

lOV.   M.  L.   CORN.  BALBUS 

P.   ANATILIORUM 

AD  RHODANI 

OSTIA  SACR.  ARAM 

V.  S.   L.  M, 


igo  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Lastly,  they  found  the  bones  of  the  saints,  perfectly 
recognizable,  and,  in  addition,  a  head  sealed  up  in  a 
leaden  box,  which,  according  to  the  cure,  was  the  head 
of  Saint  James  the  Less,  brought  from  Jerusalem  by 
Marie-Jacobe,  his  mother. 

The  bones,  having  been  devoutly  taken  from  their 
resting-place,  were  with  great  ceremony  bestowed  in 
shrines  of  cypress  wood.  The  king  was  present  with 
his  court.  The  papal  legate  was  also  there,  and  an 
archbishop,  ten  or  twelve  bishops,  a  great  number  of 
ecclesiastical  dignitaries,  professors,  and  learned  doctors. 
The  chancellor  of  the  University  of  Avignon,  too, 
and — so  the  reports  of  the  proceedings  set  forth — 
three  prothonotaries  of  the  Holy  See  and  three  notaries 
public. 

And  so  nothing  is  more  firmly  established  than  the 
authenticity  of  the  relics  of  the  saints. 

But  various  apocryphal  legends  had  appeared  to  throw 
doubt  upon  the  truth,  and  Monsieur  le  cure  was  at  work 
upon  the  following  passage  while  Livette,  with  increasing 
uneasiness,  was  awaiting  him  in  the  parlor. 

"Among  the  popular  fallacies,"  wrote  the  cur6, 
"which  destroy  pure  tradition,  we  must  stigmatize  as 
one  of  the  most  deplorable,  I  may  say  one  of  the  most 
pernicious,  that  one  which  insists  that  among  the  pas- 
sengers of  the  miraculous  craft  was  a  third  Saint  Marie, 
surnamed  the  Egyptian.  It  is  downright  heresy  !  How 
could  it  have  taken  root,  and  how  far  does  it  extend?" 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  191 

Monsieur  le  cure  proposed  to  retouch  that  last  phrase 
forthwith,  and  for  a  very  good  reason. 

"Without  doubt,"  he  continued,  "the  Egyptians, 
or  Bohemians,  or  gipsies,  by  manifesting,  from  remote 
times,  particular  veneration  for  Saint  Sara,  who  was, 
according  to  their  ideas,  an  Egyptian  and  the  wife  of 
Pontius  Pilate,  have  contributed  to  the  formation  of  an 
absurd  legend,  but  this  one  has  its  source,  or  its  root, 
in  something  different ;  there  is  an  episode  of  a  boat 
in  the  life  of  the  Egyptian,  which  assists  the  error  by 
causing  confusion." 

Monsieur  le  cure  proposed  to  return  to  that  paragraph 
also. 

"Born  in  the  outskirts  of  Alexandria,  Marie  the  Egyp- 
tian left  her  family  to  lead  the  life  of  shame  she  had 
chosen,  in  the  great  city.  Coming  to  a  river,  she  desired 
to  cross  it  in  a  boat,  and  having  not  the  wherewithal  for 
her  passage,  she  paid  the  boatman  in  an  impure  manner. 

"  Later,  she  undertook  a  journey  to  Jerusalem  with 
a  great  number  of  pilgrims,  and  on  that  occasion  again 
she  paid  the  expenses  of  her  journey  in  diabolical  fash- 
ion, especially  if  we  remember  that  those  whom  she 
enticed  into  evil  ways  were  devout  pilgrims !  And  so, 
when  she  presented  herself  at  the  door  of  the  temple, 
an  invisible  and  invincible  force  held  her  back.  She 
could  not  gain  admission  there." 

Monsieur  le  cure  was  better  satisfied  with  that,  and 
took  a  pinch  of  snuff. 


192  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

"She  thereupon  withdrew  to  the  desert,  where  she 
lived  forty-seven  years.  Her  image  appeared  one  day 
to  the  monk  Sosimus  at  Jerusalem.  She  appeared  before 
him  naked  and  begged  him  to  come  and  confess  her. 
He  obeyed,  and  went  into  the  desert.  He  found  her, 
naked,  indeed,  but  very  old.  And  Sosimus  was  con- 
vinced of  her  sainthness  because  she  had  the  power  of 
walking  on  the  water.  He  listened  to  her  confession. 
She  died  in  the  odor  of  sanctity,  as  decrepit  and  hor- 
rible to  look  upon  as  she  had  been  fair  and  pleasant  to 
the  sight.  A  lion  dug  a  grave  for  her  with  his  claws 
in  the  sand  of  the  desert. 

"The  Egyptian's  long  penance  had  redeemed  her 
life,  therefore,  and  under  Louis  IX.  the  Parisians  dedi- 
cated a  church  to  her,  which  bore  the  name  of  Sainte- 
Marie-l'Egyptienne,  —  corrupted  at  a  later  period  to 
La  Gypecienne  and  then  to  La  Jussienne.  This  church 
was  on  Rue  Montmartre,  at  the  corner  of  Rue  de  la 
Jussienne. 

"The  church  contained  a  stained  window  represent- 
ing the  saint  and  the  boatman,  with  this  inscription  : 
How  the  saiiit  offered  her  body  to  the  i/oatmati  to  pay 
her  passage} 

"We  must  not,  then,  in  any  case,  confound  Saint 
Sara,  a  contemporary  of  the  Christ,  with  Marie  the 
Egyptian,  who  lived  in  the  fifth  century, — a  fact  that 
cuts  short  all  controversy. 

"It  is  very  fortunate,"  continued  Monsieur  le  cure, 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  193 

well  pleased  with  his  somewhat  tardy  conclusion,  "that 
such  a  sinner  was  not  among  those  on  board  the  boat  of 
our  Maries-de-la-Mer,  for  in  that  boat,  as  we  have  said 
above,  there  were  several  of  the  Christ's  disciples. 
Spiritus  qiiidem  promptiis  est ;  euro  aute7?i  infirnia. ' '  ^ 

Monsieur  le  cure  took  snuff,  he  removed  and  replaced 
his  spectacles.  Monsieur  le  cure  forgot  himself.  He 
went  over  all  the  early  pages  of  his  treatise,  he  struck 
out  and  interlined ;  he  struggled  with  rebellious  words. 
From  time  to  time,  he  adjusted  his  spectacles  more 
firmly,  and  opened  and  consulted  an  ancient  book  of 
great  size.  He  was  very  busy,  very  deeply  absorbed  in 
his  favorite  employment.  He  forgot  that  somebody 
was  waiting  for  him,  and  poor  Livette,  all  alone  in  the 
parlor,  with  the  dead  birds  and  the  shells,  was  sadly 
disturbed  in  mind.  The  melancholy  that  possessed  her 
was  not  dissipated — far  from  it ! — by  the  place  in  which 
she  found  herself. 

All  the  dead  birds,  most  of  which  she  recognized  as 
birds  of  passage,  reminded  her  of  the  weariness  of 
winter,  the  season  when  the  wave-washed  island  is  im- 
mersed in  fog. 

There  were  screech-owls,  the  pale-yellow  owls  that 
live  in  church-steeples  and  at  night  drink  the  oil  in  the 
church-lamps;  vultures  that  come  down  from  the  Alps 
and  Pyrenees  in  times  of  excessive  cold;  the  ash-colored 
vulture  that  lives  at  Sainte-Baume.  There  are  little 
tomtits,  called  serruriers  (locksmiths),  which  are  found 


194  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

only  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhone,  and  penduU)ics,  so 
called  because  they  hang  their  nests  like  little  pendulums 
from  the  flexible  branches  swaying  to  and  fro  above  the 
water ;  and  sfocking-fuakers,  whose  nests  resemble  the 
tissue  of  a  knitted  stocking ;  and  the  alcyon,  that  is  to 
say,  the  bleuret  or  kingfisher;  and  the  sij-en,  of  the  brill- 
iant diversified  plumage,  called  also  honey-eater,  which 
flies  north  in  the  month  of  May,  and  spends  its  winters 
by  preference  in  Camargue.  There  was  a  stork,  that 
probably  considered  Camargue,  between  the  dikes  of 
the  Rhone,  a  little  like  Holland.  There,  too,  was  the 
heron  with  its  frill  of  delicate  feathers,  falling  like  a 
long  fringe  over  its  throat.  Livette  knew  it  only  by 
the  name  of  galejon,  bestowed  upon  it  in  that  neighbor- 
hood because  the  herons'  favorite  place  of  assemblage 
was  the  pond  of  Galejon.  There  was  one  that  bore  on 
its  pedestal  the  date :  iSoy,  and  the  words :  Purchased 
at  Aries  market ;  it  was  of  a  bluish  slate  color,  and  had 
on  its  head  three  slender  black  feathers,  a  foot  in  length. 
Then  there  were  flamingoes  galore,  for  they  sometimes 
build  their  nests  by  myriads  in  the  marshes  of  Crau, 
sitting  astride  their  nests  which  are  as  tall  as  their  legs. 
And  the  divers !  and  grebes  !  and  penguins,  which  are 
seldom  seen !  And  the  rascally  pelican,  called  by  the 
people  thereabouts  grand  gousier  / 

Livette  fancied  that  she  could  hear  in  the  distance 
the  mournful,  heart-rending  cry  of  the  birds  of  passage, 
rising  above  the  roar  of  the  wind  and  the  sound  of  the 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  195 

river  shedding  its  tears  into  the  ocean;  donainating 
the  mysterious  sounds  that  fill  the  darkness.  How 
many  times  had  she  heard  the  cries  of  cranes  and  petrels 
and  Egyptian  curlews  over  the  Chateau  d' Avignon  in 
the  season  when  the  nights  are  long,  when  the  sight 
of  the  fire  rejoices  the  heart  like  a  living  thing  full  of 
promise,  when  the  blackness  of  death  envelops  the 
world.  The  birds  remind  her  also  of  the  Christmas 
evenings,  the  evenings  when  the  logs  blazing  in  the  huge 
fire-place  and  the  many  lamps  seem  to  say  :  "  Courage  ! 
the  night  will  pass."  And  it  is  then  that  the  wheat 
shows  its  green  stalk,  saying  likewise  :  "  Yes,  courage  ! 
bad  weather,  like  all  other,  comes  to  an  end  at  last. ' ' 

Livette  mused  thus,  and  mechanically  raised  her  eyes 
to  the  ceiling,  from  which  the  crocodile  was  hanging.' 

Livette  did  not  say  to  herself  that  there  was,  some- 
where on  the  other  side  of  the  great  sea,  in  the  same 
Egypt  to  which  Saint  Joseph  and  the  Virgin  Mary  fled 
to  protect  the  Child  Jesus  from  the  persecution  of  King 
Herod,  a  great  river,  the  mighty  brother  of  the  Rhone, 
and  that  in  the  hottest  hours  of  the  day,  on  the  islands 
in  the  Nile,  the  crocodiles  crawl  in  great  numbers  out 
upon  the  overheated  sands  to  expose  their  backs  to  the 
rays  of  a  sun  as  hot  as  any  oven. 

She  did  not  say  to  herself  that  Saint  Sara,  the  swarthy 
patron  saint  of  the  gipsies,  is  called  by  them  the  Egyp- 
tian, and  that  they  water  their  gaunt  horses  in  the  Nile 
as  well  as  in  the  Rhone.     She  could  not  say  to  herself— 


ig6  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

because  she  knew  it  not — that  the  Egyptians  inherit  from 
the  Hindoos  a  debased  sort  of  magic,  and  that  it  was 
the  same  sort,  even  more  debased  without  doubt,  that 
gave  Zinzara  her  power. 

Nor  did  Livette  know  that  Zinzara  carried  in  one  of 
the  boxes  in  her  ambulatory  house — between  a  crocodile 
from  the  Nile  and  a  sacred  ibis,  both  found  in  an  Egyp- 
tian crypt — the  mummy  of  a  young  girl,  six  thousand 
years  old,  whose  face,  from  which  the  bandages  had 
been  taken,  wore  a  mask  of  gold.  She  could  conceive 
no  connection  between  the  ibis  of  the  Nile  and  yonder 
creature  of  the  same  name  killed  within  the  year  on  the 
shore  of  the  Vaccares,  but  she  underwent  the  influence 
of  all  these  mysterious  connecting  currents  to  which 
space  and  time  are  naught. 

The  lifeless  creatures,  scattered  all  about  her,  lived 
again  by  virtue  of  the  power  of  retaining  their  form 
forever.  And  fear  seized  upon  her,  for  suddenly  the 
mad  idea,  at  once  vague  and  precise,  entered  her  mind 
of  a  resemblance  between  the  profile  of  the  great  reptile 
hanging  from  the  ceiling  and  the  lower  part  of  the  gipsy 
queen's  face. 

Livette  thought  that  she  must  be  ill,  and  rose  to  go, 
determined  to  wait  no  longer,  but  as  she  put  out  her 
hand  to  the  door  she  uttered  a  cry.  A  centipede  was 
crawling  along  the  key,  as  lively  as  you  please.  She 
recoiled,  and  saw  upon  the  white  wall,  at  about  the  level 
of  her  head,  a  tarente,  that  seemed  to  be  watching  her 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  197 

with  its  pale-gray  eyes.  The  farenfe  is  inoffensive,  but 
Livette  knew  nothing  of  that.  It  is  the  Mauritanian 
gecko,  which  abounds  in  Provence,  a  reptile  repugnant 
to  the  sight,  with  gray  protuberances  on  the  head  and 
back  like  those  upon  cantaloupe  melons.  And  then 
the  little  fellow,  the  tiny  creature,  resembles  the  croco- 
dile ! — Surely,  Livette  has  the  fever. 
"What's  the  matter,  my  child?" 
Monsieur  le  cure  has  entered  the  room.  He  has  a 
kindly  air  that  comforts  the  poor  child  at  once. 

He  points  to  a  chair.     She  sits  down  and  dares  not 
say  a  word.     Where  shall  she  begin  ? 
He  urges  her. 
"Well,  my  child?" 

He  closes  his  eyes,  that  he  may  not  embarrass  her  by 
his  glance,  which  he  knows  to  be  searching.  He  has 
left  his  spectacles  up-stairs  on  his  great  book.  He  closes 
his  eyes ;  and  with  compressed  lips,  presses  his  jaws 
against  each  other  to  a  sort  of  rhythm,  so  that  you  can 
see  his  temples  bulge  out  and  subside  like  a  fish's  gills. 
It  is  a  nervous  affection.  His  hands  are  folded  on  his 
waist ;  he  clasps  his  fingers  and  plays  at  making  them 
revolve  about  one  another,  mechanically;  but  he  is 
keenly  attentive.  Monsieur  le  cure  loves  the  souls  of 
his  fellow-men.  He  knows  that  they  suffer,  that  life  is 
infinite,  and  that  they  veer  about  and  call  to  one  another 
in  the  boundless  expanse  of  space  and  time,  like  birds 
in  a  storm.     He  is  reflecting.     He  is  a  kind-hearted 


igS  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

priest.  He  is  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  the  Gospel. 
He  is  indulgent.  Does  he  not  know  that  some  great 
saints  have  been  great  sinners?  He  desires  to  be  kind. 
He  knows  how  to  be. 

What  can  be  the  matter  ? 

At  last,  Livette  speaks.    She  tells  him  everything  ;  the 
gipsy's  first  appearance,  her  refusal  to  give  her  the  oil 
she  asked  for  insolently,  with  jeering  remarks  about  ex- 
treme unction  ;  then  of  the  ominous  spell  she  cast  upon 
her,    realized   even   now  perhaps;    the  change   in    her 
Renaud's  character,  his  coldness,  his  flight;  and  then, 
that  very  morning,  the  scene  of  the  snakes;  how  she 
had  been  attracted— partly  by  curiosity,  no  doubt,  but 
also  by  her  conviction  that  she  should  hear  something 
of  Renaud.     And  how  she  gave  her  hand  to  the  gipsy 
to  have  her  fortune  told  !     That,  she  had  done  against 
her  inclination  !      She  knew  that  it  was  wrong.     Who 
would  have  dared  say  a  moment  before  that  she  would 
commit  such  a  sin?     But   she  was  afraid  of   seeming 
cowardly,  not  because  of  what  the  world  would  say,  but 
because  of  her,  the  gitana,  in  whose  presence  she  deemed 
it  her  duty  to  display  pride  and  courage.     She  felt  that 
she  was  very  hostile  to  her.     She  was  afraid  of  her,  and 
yet,  in  her  despite,  she  would  defy  her.     She  was  the 
stronger  of  the  two. — At  last,  she  arrives  at  her  most 
shocking  avowal — she  is  jealous.    A  terrible  thought  has 

come  into  her  mind;  is  it  possible  that  Renaud  could ? 

But  no.     Did  he  not,  to  save  her  from  Rampal,  risk  his 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  199 

life  by  leaping  down  from  a  first-floor  window  the  whole 
height  of  the  house  ?  To  be  sure,  Rampal  had  stolen  a 
horse  from  Renaud,  and  Renaud  had  been  looking  for 
him  for  a  long  time 

Livette  is  undone.  She  has  glanced  at  Monsieur  le 
cure,  who,  before  replying,  is  listening  to  his  own 
thoughts,  in  order  not  to  be  diverted  from  the  matter 
in  hand.  He  is  still  playing  with  his  clasped  fingers, 
making  them  revolve  about  one  another. 

Around  them  the  swans,  the  pelican,  the  red  flamingo, 
the  petrel,  the  ibis,  look  on  with  their  eyes  of  glass  im- 
bedded in  those  heads  that  have  lived  !  There  they 
stand,  those  phantom  birds,  with  wings  outspread  and 
one  claw  put  'forward,  exactly  similar  in  shape,  color, 
and  plumage  to  the  birds  that  are  soaring  above  the 
Nile  and  the  Ganges,  beyond  seas,  at  this  moment,  and 
no  less  like  other  birds  that  lived  six  thousand  years 
ago. 

The  reptile  on  the  ceihng,  laughing  down  at  them 
with  his  numerous  long,  sharp  teeth,  does,  in  very  truth, 
resemble  some  one  a  little — but  whom? 

Livette,  as  she  puts  the  question  to  herself,  suddenly 
comes  to  the  conclusion  that  she  is  insane,  utterly 
insane,  to  have  had  such  an  idea  !  She  smiles  at  it 
herself.  And  she  seems  to  feel  her  smile.  She  does 
feel  it.     She  fancies  she  can  see  it ! 

And  at  the  moment  she  is  conscious  of  a  sensation — 
and  a  painful  sensation  it  is — of  being  there,  in   that 


200  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

same  room,  surrounded  by  those  creatures  and  in  the 
presence  of  a  priest— ^^r  the  second  time  in  her  life  ! 

Yes,  all  her  present  surroundings  she  has  seen  before — 
this  that  is  happening  to  her  has  happened  before.  But 
the  first  time  was  a  long  while  ago,  oh  !  such  a  long 
while  !  The  great  reptile  on  the  ceiling  remembers, 
perhaps.  That  is  why  it  laughs. — But  she  has  forgotten 
all  about  it.  Why  is  she  here  ?  She  no  longer  knows 
even  that.     She  was  a  fool  to  come  here  ! 

This  Camargue  country,  you  see,  is  the  home  of 
malignant  fever.  It  rises  from  the  swamps  in  the  sun- 
shine, with  fetid  odors,  exhalations  that  disturb  the 
brain  and  the  action  of  the  blood.  From  the  dead 
vegetation,  from  the  dead  water,  bad  dreams  and  fever 
rise  like  vapor.  There  is  an  evil  atmosphere  there  ;  and 
the  evil  eye  too,  thinks  Livette. 

But  who  can  say  of  what  the  mummy  lying  in  Zin- 
zara's  wagon  is  thinking  all  this  time — the  mummy  of 
which  Livette  knows  nothing,  and  which  is  of  the  same 
age  as  Livette,  plus  six  thousand  years?  Like  Livette, 
it  has  wavy  hair,  very  long,  but  somewhat  faded  by 
time.  It  was  once  as  black  as  jet  like  that  of  the  women 
of  Aries.  The  mummy  is  of  the  same  age  as  Livette, 
plus  six  thousand  years  !  The  gipsies  believe  that  so 
long  as  the  dead  body  retains  its  shape,  something  of  its 
spirit  continues  to  dwell  within  it.  Zinzara  affirms  that 
this  mummy,  which  she  procured  in  Egypt,  speaks  to 
her  sometimes  and  tells  her  things. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  201 

Ah  !  if  we  should  undertake  to  go  to  the  bottom  of 
the  simplest  facts,  how  they  would  puzzle  us !  Our 
Saracen  mares  of  Camargue,  sisters  of  Al-Borak,  Ma- 
homet's white  mare,  and  the  bulls  of  the  Vaccares,  broth- 
ers of  Apis,  sometimes  absent-mindedly  take  into  their 
mouths,  in  the  heart  of  the  swamps,  the  long,  gently- 
waving  stalk  of  the  mysterious  lotus  that  lives  three 
lives  at  once,  in  the  mud  with  its  root,  in  the  water 
with  its  stalk,  in  the  blue  air  with  its  flower. 

Not  without  reason  do  the  zingari,  descendants  of 
(^oudra,  flock  to  the  crypt  of  the  three-storied  church, 
there  to  adore  the  shrine  of  Sara,  Pilate's  wife — the 
Egyptian  woman. 

Monsieur  le  cure,  who  is  a  profound  student,  is  revolving 
all  these  things  confusedly  in  his  mind — with  no  very  clear 
understanding  of  them  himself — and  pondering  them. 

Ah  !  if  he  could,  how  quickly  he  would  sweep  the 
island  clear  of  the  gipsy  vermin  !  But  he  cannot.  Tradi- 
tion forbids.  Sara  in  the  crj^pt  is  their  saint.  There  is  a 
mixture  of  pagan  and  Christian  in  the  affair,  painful  to 
contemplate  certainly,  but  with  which  he  has  no  right 
to  interfere.  The  essential  thing  is  that  the  Christian 
shall  triumph  over  the  pagan,  that  God  shall  prevail 
against  Satan — for  certain  it  is,  whatever  the  gipsies  may 
say,  that  they  are  not  descended  from  the  wise  king  who 
was  a  negro  and  who  brought  the  myrrh  to  Jesus. 

How  to  protect  Livette? 

"  Do  not  remain  alone  with  your  thoughts,  my  child. 


202  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Carry  your  rosary  always  with  you,  and  tell  your  beads 
often,  not  mechanically  but  with  your  whole  heart. 
Confide  your  sorrows  to  your  good  grandmother,  whose 
Christian  sentiments  I  well  know.  That  simple-minded 
old  woman  has  a  great  heart. 

"Avoid  the  town.  Tell  your  father — who  has  always 
done  as  you  wished,  nor  has  he  had  reason  to  repent  of 
so  doing — to  have  an  eye  to  his  house,  and  never  to 
leave  you  alone.  Avoid  Renaud  for  some  little  time ; 
at  all  events,  do  not  seek  him.  He  must  have  an  oppor- 
tunity to'  read  his  own  heart  clearly ;  we  must  not — by 
trying  to  bring  him  back  to  you — help  him  to  mistake 
his  affection  for  you,  which  is  not,  perhaps,  so  deep  as 
it  should  be.  I  will  speak  to  him  myself  when  I  have 
an  opportunity.  The  day  after  to-morrow  is  the  day  of 
the  fete  at  Saintes-Maries.  Do  not  fail  to  be  present ; 
bring  us  that  day  a  heart  filled  with  faith  and  with  the 
desire  to  do  what  is  right.  You  will  meet  many  unfor- 
tunates there.  Turn  your  eyes  toward  those  who  are 
more  wretched  than  yourself,  and  by  comparing  their 
lot  with  yours,  you  will  see  how  fortunate  you  are,  who 
have  youth  and  good  health. 

"The  health  of  the  soul  depends  upon  ourselves. 
You  will  save  yours. 

"You  will  be  the  one,  on  the  day  of  the  fete,  to  sing 
the  solo  of  invocation  just  as  the  reliquaries  descend — I 
ask  you  to  do  it,  and,  if  need  be,  I  will  lay  the  duty 
upon  you  as  a  penance. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  203 

"  She  who  thinks  on  God  and  the  holy  women  forgets 
all  earthly  ills.  Knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened  unto 
you.  They  who  fear  shall  be  reassured.  Blessed  are 
they  who  weep,  for  they  shall  be  comforted ' ' 

Monsieur  le  cure  broke  off  abruptly.  He  realized, 
the  kind-hearted  man,  that  his  discourse  was,  by  force 
of  habit,  degenerating  into  a  commonplace  sermon, 
and,  rising  from  his  chair,  he  walked  quickly  toward 
the  door,  bestowing  an  affectionate  tap  on  the  trem- 
bling maiden's  cheek  with  two  fingers  of  the  hand 
that  held  his  snuff-box,  saying  to  her  in  a  fatherly 
tone  : 

"  Go,  little  one ;  you  have  a  good  heart.  The  wicked 
can  do  naught  against  us.  I  will  pray  for  you  at  Mass. 
Everybody  in  the  country  loves  you.  Have  no  fear, 
my  daughter." 

Livette  took  her  leave.  The  cure,  left  to  himself, 
sighed.  He  saw  that  Livette  was  confronted  by  an 
ill-defined,  strange,  diabolical  peril,  of  the  kind  that 
cannot  be  turned  aside,  that  God  alone  can  avert. 

"It  is  fate,"  he  muttered,  employing  unthinkingly  a 
word  of  twofold  signification.*  "It  is  fate,"  he  re- 
peated. "Life  is  a  sea  of  troubles,  and  God  is  mys- 
terious." 


XVI 

ON  THE  ROOF  OF  THE  CHURCH 

Renaud,  after  his  victory,  dismounted  for  a  moment, 
and,  sitting  down  beside  Bernard,  on  the  shore  of  the 
Vaccares,  where  the  cattle  and  mares  of  his  drove  had 
resumed  their  attitude  of  repose,  he  set  about  reviewing 
recent  events  in  his  mind. 

To  overturn  his  projected  marriage,  to  ruin  his  future 
for  the  sake  of  the  gipsy,  for  the  sake  of  the  unworthy 
passion  that  was  at  work  within  him — most  assuredly 
Renaud  had  no  such  idea. 

When  the  first  fury  of  his  desire  was  worked  off  by  wild 
leaps  and  bounds,  after  the  fashion  of  his  horse  Prince, 
he  found  a  way  to  be  reconciled  with  himself  His 
rugged  honesty  was  impaired.  He  would  try  to  satisfy 
his  passion  for  the  accursed  gipsy  when  occasion  offered ; 
and  that,  he  felt  very  sure,  would  do  Livette  no  wrong  ! 

Like  a  clever  casuist,  he  combated  his  own  instinct- 
ively honest  impulses  with  arguments  which  he  invented 
with  much  labor,  and  then  complacently  refined  and 

elaborated,  playing  tricks  upon  himself. 

205 


2o6  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Now  that  he  could  boast  of  having  fought  Rampal 
on  Livette's  account, — omitting  in  his  thoughts  the  other 
two  reasons  he  had  had  for  fighting,  namely,  his  deter- 
mination to  recover  the  stolen  horse  and  his  desire  to 
display  his  strength  and  courage  to  Zinzara, — he  could 
return  to  the  Chateau  d' Avignon  with  his  head  in  the  air, 
and  meet  his  fiancee  again  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

Why,  after  all,  should  he  be  ashamed  ?  Had  he  not 
established  a  fresh  claim  to  Livette's  gratitude  and  the 
esteem  of  her  relatives? 

He  would  take  poor  Blanchet  back  to  her, — Blanchet, 
of  whom  she  was  so  fond, — and  he  could  tell  old  Audif- 
fret  that  the  stolen  horse  was  once  more  browsing,  with 
the  drove,  on  the  reed-grass  of  the  estate. 

No  :  after  mature  reflection,  he  was  sure  that  there  was 
nothing  that  need  make  him  ashamed. 

Indeed,  when  one  is  not  married,  is  he  required  to  be 
so  absolutely  faithful  ?  And  what  is  a  man  to  do,  when 
things  fall  in  his  way  ? 

The  eyes  see  before  one  has  had  an  opportunity  to  pre- 
vent them  !  Even  after  marriage,  can  one  refrain  from 
being  moved  by  the  sight  of  youthful  loveliness?  Can 
one  control  the  movements  of  his  blood?  Desire  is  not 
a  sin,  and  so  long  as  Livette  knew  nothing,  so  long  as 
she  did  not  suffer  through  him,  what  reason  had  he,  in 
all  frankness,  for  self-reproach? 

Nothing  had  come  about  by  his  procurement.  He 
was  still  determined  not  to  speak  to  the  gipsy  woman — 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  207 

but  he  would  be  a  great  fool  not  to  put  out  his  hand  if 
the  golden  peach  should  offer  itself  to  him  voluntarily. 

And  the  salt  breeze  that  blew  across  the  rushes, 
arousing  the  passions  of  the  wild  cattle,  rushed  through 
his  veins,  causing  the  blood  to  rise  in  sudden  flushes 
to  his  cheeks. 

Of  what  avail  against  that  breeze,  which  the  heifers 
inhale  with  delight,  is  the  "  I  will  not"  of  a  young 
man  who  feels  his  youth?  The  good  Lord  forgives  it 
in  others.  "  I  have  been  worrying  a  great  deal  over 
a  very  small  matter  of  late, ' '  thought  Renaud.  And  he 
sagely  concluded  that  he  would  return  at  once  to  Saintes- 
Maries,  to  set  Livette's  mind  at  rest,  as  it  was  his  duty 
to  do  first  of  all,  without  avoiding  or  seeking  out  the 
other. 

Meanwhile,  what  had  Livette  been  doing  ? 

AVhen  she  left  the  cure,  almost  at  the  same  moment 
that  Renaud  was  unhorsing  Rampal,  Livette  had  no 
wish  but  to  take  her  horse  and  ride  home  at  once, 
without  even  waiting  for  dinner. 

She  felt  that  she  was  lost  in  such  close  proximity  to 
the  ill-omened  gipsies. 

Her  first  thought  was  that  Renaud,  if  he  had  over- 
taken Rampal,  whom  he  could  not  fail  to  master,  would 
go  without  loss  of  time  to  the  Chateau  d' Avignon. 

But  her  second  thought  was  that  he  would  return  to 
Saintes-Maries  to  make  the  m.ost  of  his  triumph.  She 
knew  Renaud  well !     He  was  proud  of  his  strength  and 


2o8  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

address.  He  was  spoiled  by  the  public  at  the  races, 
who  applauded  with  hands  and  voice,  and  he  loved  to 
hear  the  "Bravo,  Renaud  !  " — He  would  return  to  the 
town,  yes,  he  surely  would ! 

He  might  imagine,  indeed,  that  she,  Livette,  had 
remained  there,  and  return  on  her  account — and  a  little 
on  the  other's  account,  at  the  same  time ! — Ah !  poor 
child !  suspicion  was  just  beginning  to  creep  into  her 
mind.  Just  God !  suppose  that  that  zingara  woman 
should  fascinate  her  Renaud  ! 

Livette,  having  found  her  horse  still  tied  to  the  church- 
wall,  sent  him  to  the  stable  at  the  inn  and  went  to  the 
fisherman  Tonin's  to  share  his  bouille-abaisse. 

"You  did  well,  Livette,"  said  Tonin,  "you  have 
avoided  a  sharp  squall  of  the  mistral.  But  I  know  what 
I'm  talking  about;  it's  nothing  but  a  squall,  and  you 
can  go  home  this  afternoon  quietly  enough.  It  will 
be  too  hot,  if  anything.  But  what's  the  matter,  that 
you're  so  thoughtful?" 

Livette  heard  but  little  of  all  that  was  said  at  the 
fisherman's  table,  and,  after  due  reflection,  returned  to 
Monsieur  le  cure's  after  the  meal  was  at  an  end. 

"Are  you  still  at  Saintes-Maries,  little  one ?  "  he  said, 
with  a  sad  smile. 

"  I  had  a  fright,  my  father " 

Livette  sometimes  addressed  the  cure  thus,  because  of 
the  custom  in  confession. 

"A  fright?  how  was  that?  " 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  209 

"Suppose  they  have  fought,  who  knows  what  may 
have  happened  ?  Mon  Dieu  !  chance  is  uncertain,  and 
that  Rampal  is  so  treacherous  that  Renaud  may  be  the 
loser.  I  would  like,  with  your  permission,  Monsieur  le 
cure,  to  go  up  on  the  roof  of  the  church  at  once ;  from 
there  I  could  see  Renaud  much  sooner  if  he  comes  back 
here." 

The  happy  thought  had  come  to  her  of  watching  her 
betrothed,  as  he  himself  had,  that  same  morning,  watched 
Rampal  from  the  wine-shop  window. 

The  cure  smiled  again  and  good-humoredly  took  down 
the  keys  of  the  little  staircase  that  leads  to  the  upper 
chapel  and  thence  to  the  bell-tower. 

He  left  the  house,  followed  by  Livette. 

At  the  foot  of  the  great  bare  wall  of  the  church,  so 
high  and  cold, — a  veritable  rampart  with  its  battlements 
sharply  defined  against  the  blue  of  the  sky, — the  good 
cure  opened  the  small  door. 

They  ascended  the  stairs. 

When  they  reached  the  upper  chapel,  which  is  just 
above  the  choir  of  the  church,  as  we  know,  the  cure 
said : 

"I  will  remain  here,  little  one,  to  offer  up  a  prayer 
to  the  holy  women ;  you  can  goon  alone." 

But  Livette,  without  replying,  knelt  devoutly  beside 
the  cure  for  an  instant,  before  the  relics. 

The  relics  were  there,  behind  the  ropes  coiled  about 
the  capstan,  by  means  of  which  they  were  lowered  into 


2  10  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

the  church,  as  the  Httle  jug  from  which  the  lips  of  the 
faithful  drank  so  eagerly  was  lowered  into  the  miracu- 
lous well  below ; — there  they  were,  on  the  edge  of  the 
opening  through  which  they  were  launched  into  space. 

Through  this  window-like  opening  into  the  body  of 
the  church  Livette  could  see  the  chairs  systematically 
arranged  below,  and,  higher  up,  the  galleries,  the  pulpit, 
and  the  pictures  —  all  well-nigh  hidden  in  the  dark 
shadow,  intersected  by  two  rays  of  light  that  darted  in, 
like  arrows,  through  the  narrow  loopholes. 

Away  down,  below  the  gallery  at  the  rear,  opposite 
where  she  stood,  the  chinks  in  the  great  square  door 
were  marked  like  fine  lines  of  fire  by  the  sunshine 
without. 

She  gazed  for  a  long  moment  at  the  blessed  shrines, 
and  conjured  them  to  turn  aside  the  evil  spell  that  she 
could  feel  about  her. 

And,  do  what  she  would,  as  she  gazed  at  the  shrines, 
which  had  the  appearance  of  two  coffins  laid  side  by 
side  and  welded  together,  Livette  was  conscious  that 
her  thoughts  became  more  melancholy  than  ever.  Had 
she  not  seen,  year  after  year,  some  poor,  infirm  wretch 
in  despair  lie  at  full  length  on  cushions  in  the  acute 
angle  formed  by  the  two  lids  of  the  double  coffin  ?  And 
how  many  of  them  had  been  cured  ?  One  in  fifty  thou- 
sand, and  only  at  long  intervals  ? 

And  yet,  what  scores  of  ^•otive  offerings  that  lofty 
chapel  held, — pictures,  commemorative  marble  tablets, 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  211 

crutches,  guns  with  shattered  barrels,  and  small  boats 
presented  by  sailors  saved  after  shipwreck  !  Aye,  but 
in  how  many  years  have  the  miracles  been  performed  of 
which  these  offerings  are  the  tokens? — One  shudders  to 
think  how  many. 

And  Livette,  well  content  to  divert  her  thoughts  from 
such  painful  subjects,  left  Monsieur  le  cure  at  his  prayers, 
and  went  up  on  the  roof  of  the  church. 

The  bright  glare  of  the  sky,  bursting  suddenly  upon 
her,  dazzled  her.  She  had  to  close  her  eyes ;  then  she 
looked  down  upon  the  plain.  The  plain  was  a  flood  of 
light. 

The  rascally  mistral,  that  blows  three,  six,  or  nine  days 
at  a  time  when  it  has  fairly  buckled  down  to  work,  had 
simply  taken  a  whim,  as  Tonin  had  foreseen.  Not  a 
leaf  was  stirring  now.  The  sea  had  not  had  time  to 
grow  angry  below  the  surface.  It  was  laughing.  The 
ponds  were  as  smooth  as  mirrors.  The  sun  shone  hotter 
than  ever  in  the  clearer  air. 

The  swallows  and  martins  circled  about  Livette's 
head,  uttering  in  endless  succession  shrill,  piercing  cries 
that  constantly  came  nearer  and  again  receded.  The 
pointed  wings  of  the  martins,  also  called  arbaletriers  or 
cross-bowmen,  brushed  against  the  turrets  and  shot  into 
the  loopholes  like  arrows. 

Livette  looked  off  into  the  desert  straight  before  her, 
and,  not  seeing  what  she  expected,  she  let  her  glance 
wander  here  and  there  over  the  vast  expanse,  attractive 


212  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

but  monotonous,  which  one  can  traverse,  from  end  to 
end,  without  ever  seeing  aught  but  endless  repetition 
of  the  same  sand,  the  same  tufts  of  grass,  the  same 
gleaming  waters. 

From  the  top  of  the  church  the  horizon  seemed 
almost  limitless  in  every  direction,  for  the  golden  peaks 
of  the  little  Alps,  vaguely  outlined  down  in  the  north- 
east, seem  to  be  no  more  than  jagged  bits  of  cloud. 

When  you  are  looking  at  them  from  that  point,  you 
have  at  your  right,  to  the  eastward,  Crau  and  the 
sansouires,  Martigues,  and  Marseilles  beyond  the  salt 
marshes  of  Giraud,  cut  into  rectangular  mounds  of 
glistening  salt.  In  the  west  is  little  Camargue,  with  its 
temporary  ponds,  its  rare  groves  of  pine,  its  euphorbium 
and  branching  asphodel,  and  its  Etang  des  Fournaux, 
the  father  of  mirages,  and  filled  with  shells,  although  it 
has  no  connection  with  the  sea. 

In  this  vast,  flat  region,  the  mind  and  the  eye  fall 
into  the  habit  of  looking  always  to  the  horizon,  embra- 
cing as  much  space  as  possible  in  the  hope  of  finding 
some  inequality. 

But  they  cannot  escape  the  unchanging  monotony, 
even  less  varied  than  the  monotony  of  the  sea,  for  the 
sea  changes  color,  and  is  by  turns  black,  blue,  pale- 
green,  dark-purple,  or  golden. 

In  our  desert  there  are  everywhere  the  same  tamarisks, 
the  same  reeds,  and  —  round  about  the  six  thousand 
hectares  covered  by  the  waters  of  the  Vaccares — always 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  213 

the  same  horizon  Hnes,  nowhere  absolutely  unbroken, 
but  almost  everywhere  festooned  with  clumps  of  tama- 
risks ;  the  mirage  will  always  show  you  a  pond  gleaming 
in  some  spot  of  the  plain  where  none  is  to  be  found ; 
and  the  fisherman,  walking  along  the  shore,  increases 
enormously  in  size  as  he  recedes,  because  of  the  re- 
fraction. 

Sometimes  the  month  of  May  is  as  hot  in  Camargue 

as  August. 

• '  Au  mois  de  Mai 

Va  comme  il  te  plait." 

Livette  was  dazzled  by  the  glare,  and  lowered  her  eyes 
to  scan,  with  her  keen  glance,  the  most  distant  clumps 
of  tamarisks,  to  follow  the  almost  invisible  ribbon  of 
the  cart-road  that  leads  from  the  Vaccares  to  Saintes- 
Maries.  Her  eyes  are  tired,  and  scorching  in  her  head. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  landscape  to  give  them  rest. 

Everywhere  the  treeless  soil  exhales  a  burning  breath 
that  rises  in  visible  vibrations.  The  spirit  of  the  earth 
breaks  its  bonds  and  hovers  over  her.  She  can  see  it 
ascending  in  hot  waves.  Her  eyes  perceive  the  trans- 
parent undulations,  the  heat  trembling  in  the  cool  air, 
the  very  soul  of  the  interior  lire  that  trembles  so  to  the 
sight  that  one  fancies  he  can  hear  it  rustle.  It  is  the 
never-ceasing  dance  of  the  reflected  light. 

Weary  of  the  glare  of  the  plain,  Livette  turned  to- 
ward the  sea,  but  the  sea  was  simply  an  immense  bur- 
nished mirror  which  flashed  back  at  the  eyes,  from  the 


2  14  •^'NG  OF  CAMARGUE 

countless  facets  of  its  swiftly  moving  fragments,  the  glow 
of  the  blazing  sky  multiplied  beyond  expression. 

\V'hen  she  looked  down  once  more  upon  the  plain,  she 
saw,  about  a  league  away,  a  horseman  trotting  briskly 
toward  the  Saintes-Maries.  By  an  indefinable  some- 
thing in  the  bearing  of  that  tiny  speck  she  recognized 
her  Renaud. 

So  no  harm  had  come  to  him  ! 

She  was  on  the  point  of  going  down  again,  when  sud- 
denly she  forced  herself  to  bide  a  little  there,  to  see  what 
he  would  do  when  he  arrived. 

He  was  already  passing  the  public  spring.  He  turned 
to  the  left,  and  disappeared  for  a  moment  behind  the 
houses.     He  was  coming  toward  the  church. 

From  embrasure  to  embrasure  she  ran,  to  follow  him 
with  her  eyes ;  and  in  a  few  seconds  he  rode  out  into 
the  square  in  front  of  the  church,  at  the  foot  of  the 
Calvary  erected  there. 

She  leaned  over  and  watched  him.  Where  was  he 
going?  He  had  stopped.  His  tired  horse  was  stand- 
ing quite  still,  simply  moving  his  long  tail  from  side  to 
side  to  drive  away  the  gnats  and  gadflies  that  were 
riddling  his  bleeding  flanks  with  wounds,  for,  after 
the  mistral,  the  gadflies  dance  !  And  then  ?  Nothing. 
Absolute  silence  in  the  vast  glowing  expanse.  Livette 
instinctively  noticed  that  the  horse's  dark  shadow,  clearly 
marked  upon  the  ground,  was  already  elongated,  indi- 
cating that  it  was  four  o'clock. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  215 

She  continued  to  question  herself  as  to  Renaud's 
attitude — what  was  he  doing  there,  standing  still  like 
that? — when  suddenly  the  sound  of  a  woman's  voice 
singing  floated  up  to  her  ears. 

In  the  perfect  silence,  that  voice,  clear  as  a  bell,  poured 
forth  outlandish  words  that  neither  Renaud  nor  Livette 
could  understand. 

The  zingara  sang : 

"Allow  the  romichal,  the  tzigane,  to  pass.     He  is  the 
spectre  of  a  true  king.     Kingly  is  his  tattered  cloak. 
A  saddle  is  his  throne.     Is  the  whole  earth  thy  kingdom, . 
Romichal  ? 

"At  Boerenthal  they  speak  the  language  of  the  Zend. 
Oh  !  the  (^oudra  would  become  pope  !  Thinkst  thou  it 
was  the  evil-doer  who  invented  evil?  Nay,  nay;  put 
not  thy  trust  in  God,  and  remain  free,  Romichal ! 

"The  Rhine,  too,  is  a  Nile.  And  the  Rhone  like- 
wise. But  thy  mare  prefers  to  drink  in  the  river  of 
Chal !  The  Nile  alone  can  make  thy  hope  neigh  aloud, 
O  Romichal!" 

With  her  eye,  like  a  migratory  bird's,  Zinzara  had 
long  before  spied  Livette  perched  up  aloft  between  the 
crenelles  of  the  church-roof,  and,  seeing  Renaud  riding 
toward  her,  she,  in  joyous  mood  as  always,  had  begun  to 
sing,  from  mere  caprice  and  bravado,  within  the  circle 
of  the  echo  of  the  lofty  walls. 

Like  the  serpents  at  the  sound  of  her  flute,  Renaud 
was  fascinated.     The  gipsy  suspected  as  much. 


2i6  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

And  when  she  had  finished  her  song  she  showed 
herself. 

"Surely  thou  hast  killed  thy  foe,  romi  ?  "  she  said. 
"  But  how  is  it  that  I  do  not  see  his  heart  at  the  point 
of  thy  spear?  Thy  maiden  whose  blood  is  like  snow 
will  ask  thee  for  it  ere  long.  Ah  !  that  was  a  kiss  well 
avenged — for  a  Christian  !  For  if  thy  foe  still  sat  in 
his  saddle,  thou  wouldst  not  be  in  thine,  I  suppose? 
Listen,  then,  my  beauty — although  it  be,  in  very  truth, 
a  crime  for  us  zingari  women  to  deem  a  Christian  fair  to 
look  upon,  I  must  tell  thee,  none  the  less :  On  the  honor 
of  a  queen,  romi,  thou  art  handsome  as  a  son  of  my  own 
race,  brave  as  a  highwayman,  as  fine  a  horseman  as  the 
best  of  us,  proud  as  a  free  man  !  I  regret  neither  my 
anger  of  the  other  day,  nor  my  song  of  a  moment  ago, 
nor  the  compliment  I  pay  thee  now  :  for  I  never  do 
aught  save  that  which  pleases  me  !  and  my  very  anger 
does  me  better  service  than  reflection  !  Adieu,  romi, 
may  thy  God  guard  thee,  if  He  knows  me  !  " 

Livette  had  heard  nothing  but  the  sharp,  incisive  tone 
in  which  the  gipsy  spoke;  she  could  not  distinguish  her 
words. 

But  as  Zinzara  went  away,  she  took  good  care,  before 
she  disappeared  at  the  corner  of  the  square,  to  send  a 
kiss  to  the  drover  with  her  finger-tips — a  kiss  which 
seemed  to  him,  because  he  could  see  her  smile,  a  bit 
of  raillery,  but  which  was  in  Livette's  eyes  a  token  of 
requited  love.     Renaud  thereupon  admitted  to  himself 


ari)apter  XVi 


From  embrasure  to  embrasure  she  rati,  to  follow  htm 
with  her  eyes ;  and  in  a  few  seconds  he  rode  out  into 
the  square  in  front  of  the  church,  at  the  foot  of  the 
Cahary  erected  there. 

She  leaned  over  and  watched  him.  Where  was  he 
going?     He  had  stopped. 


KING  OF  CAM^ 
;i  she  had  finished 

,>.;cly  thou  hast  killed  • 

:t  how  is  it  that  I  do  n<v  .:         tne  poim 

...  uiy  spear?    Thy  '  '^od  is  like  snow 

will  ask  thee  for  it  ere  1-  that  was  a  kiss  well 

,.  .,.....,i_for  a  Christiai;  ;  thy  foe  still  sat  in 

1,     ._.dle,  thou  wouldsi  n  tiiine,  I  suppose? 

Listen,  then,  "^^y^34y-.,^^f,r,S^  ''  ^^'  "^  ""^'^  ''^"'^' 
a  crime  for  us  .1^3.^  ^^^^'^^'^if^m  a  Christian  fair  to 
look  upon,  I  laust  tell  tl.^—  the  less:  On  tlie  honor 
of  a  ntJeen,  romi,  thor,  ,        jme  as  a  son  of  nrv  own 

T\i-.\  lra\c  a^  a  Mgliw  i . .    .  ■.  .!>  tivic  a  norbemaa  as  me 

^^"iii^^^Y  t"#  ^^..^^h^^-':  ^"^^  >  .^Sv:^;)t^'ii  ^-^^s^u^^o, 
nor  the  compliment  I  i>.^         ;.^-«4^s\j^"ifeT^^Iv(?»vT^'^do 

does  uie  belr-r  :>ervjce  i:      ^,^<^^Ht"^iik  ^"4^^'^^s^^8§'''' 
mav  thy  C.  ;rd  thee,  ).      *  .  ki^ows  me  !  " 

ird  nothin,'     .;t  the  sharp,  incisive  tone 
V  spoke  '.mid  not  distinguish  her 


V.  ijiUi. 


s'cni  awa)  /ok  ^uod  care,  before 

lie  con  he  square,  to  send  a 

kiss  to  Uie  ii.  '     V  ,  'ips— a   kiss  which 

1  to  hi  ne  cu  her  smile,  a  bit 

raiilcry,  but  whiv:ii  was  in  1  ves  a  token  of 

1  love.     V  ■  thereupoj.  'ed  to  himself 


Sil^ 


Oi 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  217 

that  he  had  returned  to  Saintes-Maries  in  quest  of  noth- 
ing else  than  this  compliment  from  the  gipsy — some- 
thing that  drew  him  nearer  to  the  seductive  creature! 

Now  he  had  no  choice  but  to  turn  back.  He  pre- 
ferred not  to  see  Livette  at  once  !  He  preferred  to 
return  to  the  free  air  of  the  desert,  to  set  his  thoughts  in 
order,  discover  his  real  feelings,  reckon  up  his  chances, 
and,  after  that  was  done,  to  be  left  alone  with  the  image 
of  the  gitana,  from  whom  he  parted  willingly,  however, 
for  he  was  very  glad  to  be  at  a  distance  from  her,  with 
unrestrained  freedom  of  movement,  the  better  to  think 
of  her. 

Before  leaving  the  roof  of  the  church,  Livette  cast  a 
glance  upon  the  broad  expanse  of  Camargue  at  her  feet. 
Ah !  how  empty  was  that  immense  space !  The  few 
scattered  houses  which  would  have  delighted  her  eyes 
in  the  plain,  were  hidden  by  the  clumps  of  umbrella- 
like pines  beneath  which  they  stood.  Nothing  human 
replied  to  the  cry  of  distress  uttered  by  her  poor  heart, 
which  longed  to  follow  the  bewitched  drover  into  the 
desert,  and  which  seemed  to  her  to  flutter  down  from 
the  summit  of  the  tower  to  the  ground,  where  it  was 
crushed  by  the  fall  like  a  bird  fallen  from  its  nest. 


XVII 

THE    OLD   WOMAN 

Renaud  rode  at  a  foot-pace  to  the  Menage,  one  of  the 
farms  belonging  to  the  Chateau  d' Avignon.  He  had 
ordered  Bernard  to  bring  Blanchet  to  him  there,  intend- 
ing to  take  him  back  to  the  chateau.  It  was  but  a  short 
distance  from  one  to  the  other. 

He  was  exceedingly  astonished  to  find  that  the  more 
he  reflected  upon  what  had  happened  to  him — and  it 
was  really  what  he  had  hoped  for — the  more  dissatisfied 
he  was. 

He  believed  that  he  bad  finally  formed,  in  spite  of 

everything,   a   fairly   accurate   estimate   of  the   gipsy's 

character — a  fact  that  pleased  him.     He  had  simply  said 

to  himself  that  she  was  an  uncivilized  creature,  since  she 

could  forget  all  shame  of  her  nakedness  in  her  haste  to 

punish  as  best  she  could  a  man  she  deemed  overbold. 

From   her   very   immodesty,    from   the   arrogance   and 

malignity  she  had  exhibited   at  their  first  meeting,  he 

had,  strangely  enough,  evolved  a  proof  of  chastity  so 

219 


220  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

sure  of  itself,  so  disdainful  of  peril,  that  the  shameless 
creature  seemed  to  him  only  the  more  desirable. 

He  knew  that  the  gipsy  women  esteem  thieves,  but 
not  prostitutes,  and  he  had  enjoyed  seeing  in  Zinzara  a 
sort  of  savage  virgin,  ferocious  as  a  wild  beast  of  the 
Orient,  over  whom  he,  the  tamer  of  beasts,  would  be 
the  first  to  enjoy  the  pride  of  triumph.  And,  lo  !  she 
suddenly  aroused  in  him  a  feeling  of  repulsion  which  he 
could  not  explain.  Simply  because  he  had  heard  her 
pronounce  a  few  words,  of  obscure  meaning,  like  all 
gipsy  words,  and  threatening  in  tone  as  he  ought  to  ex- 
pect,— more  amiable,  in  point  of  fact,  than  he  had  any 
right  to  hope, — he  believed  her,  as  if  it  had  been  re- 
vealed to  him  in  a  dream,  capable  of  anything,  a  wicked 
woman  /     He  felt  that  the  devil  was  in  her. 

He  had  no  precise  knowledge  as  to  her  age.  Was 
she  seventeen  or  twenty-five?  The  swarthy  tint  of  her 
impassive  yet  smiling  face  told  nothing,  hid  blushes 
and  pallor  alike. 

Her  face  was  extremely  young,  and  its  expression 
was  of  no  age.  Renaud  had  undergone  the  inexpli- 
cable fascination  of  that  face,  whereon  the  malignity 
born  of  a  woman's  experience  of  the  world,  false  for 
the  sake  of  omnipotence,  was  mingled  with  something 
child-like. 

Stronger  men  than  he  would  have  been  caught  in  the 
snare.  Neither  king  nor  priest  could  have  escaped 
the  evil  fascination  of  the  gitana !     She  would  have  had 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  221 

but  to  will.     The  very  things  that  repelled   one  were 
attractive  ! 

So  Renaud  was  caught,  and  his  manner  showed  it. 
Sitting  upon  his  tired  horse,  upon  the  stallion  whose  fiery 
nature  was  subdued  by  so  much  hard  riding  in  all  direc- 
tions, and  who  carried  his  head  less  high,  the  drover, 
supporting  the  head  of  his  spear  upon  his  stirrup  while 
the  handle  rested  against  his  arm,  seemed  like  a  van- 
quished king,  humiliated  by  the  feeling  that  he  was  a 
prisoner  in  the  free  air. 

He  found  Bernard  at  the  Menage,  in  the  huge  room 
on  the  lower  floor,  like  those  in  all  the  farm-houses  of  the 
province,  with  the  high  mantelpiece,  the  long  massive 
table  in  the  centre,  the  kneading-trough  of  well-waxed 
walnut,  the  carved  bread-cupboard  with  little  columns, 
fastened  to  the  wall  like  a  cage,  and  the  shining  copper 
pans.  Upon  the  whitewashed  wall  a  few  colored  pictures 
were  hanging  :  the  Saintes-Maries  in  their  boat ;  Napo- 
leon I.  on  the  Bridge  of  Areola,  and  Genevieve  de 
Brabant,  with  the  roe,  in  the  depths  of  a  forest. 

An  old  shepherd  was  seated  at  the  table,  beside 
Bernard,  slowly  eating  his  slice  of  bread. 

"Is  it  you,  king?"  said  he  as  Renaud  entered.  ''  I 
have  seen  you  hold  your  head  higher !  What's  the 
matter  with  you?  you  look  downhearted.  Aren't  you 
still  a  cattle-herder,  my  boy?  A  shepherd's  virtue, 
young  man,  is  patience,  remember  that.  What  you 
can't  find  in  a  day  you  may  find  in  a  hundred  years." 


222  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

"Ah!  there  you  are,  Sigaud,  eh?"  Renaud  replied, 
without  answering  his  questions.  "  When  do  you  start 
for  the  Alps?" 

**  Right  away,  my  son.  We  are  behindhand  this 
year.     1  am  just  getting  ready." 

Nothing  more  was  said.  AVhen  they  had  eaten  in 
silence  their  bread  and  sheep's-milk  cheese,  and  drunk  a 
cup  of  sour  wine  made  from  the  wild  grape,  they  rose. 

The  shepherd  threw  his  cloak  over  his  arm,  took  his 
staff  from  a  corner,  and  having  doffed  his  broad-brimmed 
hat  before  an  old  image  of  the  Nativity,  that  hung  on  the 
wall,  embellished  with  a  branch  laden  with  cocoons, 
and  beneath  which,  on  a  carved  oak  stand,  stood  a  little 
lamp,  long  unlighted,  he  went  slowly  from  the  room. 

When  Renaud,  mounted  upon  Prince  and  leading 
Blanchet,  left  the  Menage,  he  rode  some  time  with  the 
shepherds,  by  the  side  of  the  enormous  flock  on  their 
way  to  the  Alps,  where  they  were  to  pass  the  summer 
season. 

Two  thousand  sheep,  led  by  the  rams,  and  arranged 
in  battalions  and  companies,  under  the  care  of  several 
shepherds  of  whom  old  Sigaud  was  the  chief,  were  trot- 
ting along  the  road  with  hanging  heads,  making  with 
their  eight  thousand  feet  a  dull,  smothered  pattering,  as 
of  falling  hailstones,  in  the  dense  clouds  of  dust.  The 
Labry  dogs  ran  to  and  fro  along  the  edges  of  the  flock, 
full  of  business,  but  frequently  turning  their  eyes  toward 
their  master. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  223 

A  few  asses  scattered  among  the  different  companies 
bore  upon  their  backs,  jolting  about  in  double  wicker- 
baskets,  the  sleepy,  bleating  lambs. 

Old  Sigaud  was  in  high  feather,  thinking  of  the  cool, 
fresh  air  of  the  Alps,  where  the  grass  is  green  and  the 
water  pure,  and  where  he  could  gaze  in  peace  every 
night  at  Cassiopeia's  Chair  and  the  Three  Kings  and 
the  Pleiades  in  the  heavens  studded  with  myriads  of 
stars. 

"Adieu,  Sigaud,"  said  Renaud,  drawing  rein  when 
the  time  came  for  him  to  part  from  the  flock  and  its 
guardians. 

Sigaud  also  stopped  in  front  of  him. 

"Adieu,  Renaud,"  said  he  gravely.  "There  must 
be  a  woman  at  the  bottom  of  your  trouble.  You  are  too 
sad.  But  we  called  you  King  to  do  honor  to  your 
courage,  you  mustn't  forget  that.  Remember,  too,  that 
everything  is  of  some  use,  my  boy,  and  that  good  may 
come  out  of  evil.    It  takes  all  kinds  to  make  the  world !  " 

Renaud  found  Livette  sitting  on  the  stone  bench  in 
front  of  the  door  of  the  chateau.  He  had  not  leaped 
down  from  Prince  before  she  was  covering  Blanchet 
with  kisses.  Audiffret  was  very  glad  to  learn  that  the 
stolen  horse  had  returned  to  the  drove,  but  when  Re- 
naud explained  that  he  had  come,  on  this  occasion,  to 
return  Blanchet,  Livette  showed  some  feeling. 

"  So  you  are  not  satisfied  with  what  he  has  done  for 
you? ' '  said  she.    "Such  a  pretty  horse !  and  so  clever ! — 


224  •^'NG  OF  CAMARGUE 

or  perhaps  you  are  tired  of  teaching  him  for  me,  of 
preventing  him  from  learning  bad  tricks  in  the  stable, 
of  training  him  so  that  I  can  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
him  return  a  winner  from  the  races  at  Beziers,  where 
my  father  is  anxious  to  send  him  next  month?" 

"Certainly,  Renaud,"  said  Audiffret,  "you  ought  to 
keep  him.  He  gets  rusty  here  in  the  stable.  But  I  am 
surprised  at  what  Livette  says.  Why,  would  you  believe 
that  she  was  regretting  him  this  very  morning,  saying 
that  she  proposed  to  ask  you  to  bring  him  back  to-day. 
And  now  she  doesn't  want  him  ! — It  takes  a  very  shrewd 
man  to  understand  these  girls  !  " 

But  what  Audiffret  could  not  understand,  Renaud, 
for  his  part,  understood  very  well.  The  lovelorn  damsel 
said  to  herself  that,  by  returning  the  horse,  her  fiance 
would  rid  himself  of  a  reminder  of  her,  which  was  a 
cause  of  remorse  to  him  perhaps — whereas,  he  ought, 
like  a  jealous  lover,  to  have  wanted  to  look  after 
Blanchet,  and  take  care  of  him  for  her,  as  long  as 
possible. 

Renaud  resisted  as  best  he  could.  He  would  have  a 
deal  of  hard  riding  to  do  at  the  time  of  the  fetes,  he 
said,  and  he  did  not  want  to  overwork  Blanchet  or  to 
leave  him  with  the  drove  to  become  wild  again. 

Thereupon,  Audiffret,  easily  influenced  by  the  last  who 
spoke,  agreed  with  Renaud. 

While  the  discussion  was  in  progress,  Renaud  had  put 
up  both  horses  in  the  stable.    That  done,  he  w-ent  slowly 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  225 

up  to  the  hay-loft,  whence  he  threw  down  an  armful  of 
hay  into  the  racks  through  the  openings  in  the  floor. 

When  he  went  down  again,  Blanchet  was  standing 
alone  in  front  of  the  mangers,  nibbling  at  the  hay.— 
Renaud  ran  to  the  door.  Livette,  having  removed 
Prince's  halter,  was  shouting  at  him  and  waving  her 
pretty  arms  to  drive  him  away,  naked  and  free.  Honest 
Audiffret,  delighted  at  his  daughter's  cunning,  laughed 
and  laughed.  And  Prince,  overjoyed  to  return  to  the 
desert  after  these  few  days  of  slavery,  thinking  no  more 
of  the  oats  to  be  had  at  the  chateau,  stood  erect  like  a 
goat,  neighed  shrilly  with  dehght,  shook  his  luxuriant 
mane,  flung  up  his  tail  and  thrashed  the  air,  alive  with 
the  flies  he  had  driven  from  his  flanks — and  darted  away 
toward  the  horizon  through  the  lane  between  the  trees 
in  the  park. 

Renaud  had  no  choice  but  to  submit  with  an  affecta- 
tion of  gratitude,  and  to  laugh  with  the  rest ; — but  it 
was  more  distasteful  to  him  than  ever  to  ride  a  horse 
that  belonged  to  him  less  than  any  other  in  the  drove,  a 
horse  that  was  his  fiancee's. 

Thereupon,  Audiffret  went  about  his  various  tasks ; 
and,  two  hours  later,  when  they  were  all  assembled 
in  the  lower  room  of  the  farm-house,  Renaud,  being 
suddenly  seized  with  ennui  at  the  thought  that  he  was 
likely  at  any  moment  to  have  to  endure  an  embarrassing 
tete-a-tete  with  this  same  Livette  whose  company  he  had 
so  ardently  desired  a  few  days  before,  spoke  of  taking  his 


226  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

leave.  Audiffret  remonstrated,  and  invited  him  to  sup- 
per. They  would  drink  a  glass  in  honor  of  his  victory. 
Renaud  refused  awkwardly,  conscious  how  lacking  in 
courtesy  such  an  utterly  motiveless  refusal  was. 

But  when  the  grandmother,  who  hardly  ever  spoke, 
urged  him  to  stay,  he  stayed. 

The  old  woman  rarely  spoke,  for  her  thoughts  were 
always  with  the  dead  and  gone  grandfather,  who  had 
been  the  faithful  companion  of  her  toilsome  life.  She 
was  slowly  drying  up,  like  wood  that  is  sound  in  all  its 
fibres,  but  has  lost  its  sap.  Hers  was  a  lovely  old  age, 
such  as  are  seen  in  the  land  of  the  grasshopper,  where 
people  live  sober  lives,  preserved  by  the  light.  Already 
advanced  in  years  when  she  came  to  Camargue,  she  had 
never  suffered  from  the  malevolence  of  the  swamps.  It 
was  too  late.  The  cypress-tree  does  not  allow  the  worms 
to  draw  their  lines  upon  its  surface. 

She  was  patiently  awaiting  death,  sometimes  mum- 
hXmg  paiers  upon  her  rosary  of  olive-nuts,  gazing  fear- 
lessly, with  her  dimmed  eyes,  straight  before  her  at  the 
vague  shadow  wherein  her  departed  old  man,  her  good, 
faithful  Tiennet,  was  waiting  for  her; — Tiennet,  who  had 
never,  in  forty  years,  caused  her  a  i)ang,  and  whom  she 
had  never  wronged  by  a  smile,  even  in  the  days  of  her 
gayest  youth.  Tiennet,  from  the  depths  of  the  shadow, 
sometimes  called  to  her  softly,  and  then  the  old  woman 
would  be  heard  to  murmur,  in  a  dreamy  voice:  "I  am 
coming,  good  man  !     I  am  coming!  " 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  227 

Being  left  alone  for  a  moment  with  Livette,  just  before 
supper,  Renaud  did  not  know  what  to  say.  Nor  did  she. 
He  did  not  dare  to  lie,  and  she  hoped  that  he  would 
open  his  heart  and  confess.  At  one  moment,  she  felt 
that  the  very  fact  of  his  silence  was  sufficient  proof  of 
his  treachery,  and  the  next  moment,  on  the  contrary, 
she  said  to  herself:  "If  there  was  an  understanding 
between  them,  he  would  not  be  here  !  I  was  mad ! 
He  loves  me." 

At  supper,  he  was  very  talkative,  told  about  his  battles 
and  his  hunting  exploits;  how,  the  year  before,  with 
that  rascal  of  a  Rampal,  he  had  beaten  up  two  coveys 
of  partridges,  on  horseback,  in  a  single  morning.  They 
had  taken  twenty-eight,  more  than  twenty  being  killed 
on  the  wing  at  a  single  casting  of  their  staves,  Arab- 
fashion. 

Audiffret,  overjoyed  at  the  recovery  of  a  horse  he  had 
thought  lost  forever,  drew  from  under  the  woodpile  an 
old-fashioned  bottle,  a  gift  from  the  masters,  those  mas- 
ters who  are  always  absent — like  all  the  landowners  of 
Camargue,  who  prefer  to  dwell  in  cities, — Paris,  Mar- 
seilles, or  Montpellier, — leaving  the  desert  to  their 
bailiffs. 

"Ah!  the  masters  in  old  times!"  said  Audiffret, 
"they  had  more  courage  and  were  better  served  and 
better  loved!  "  Renaud,  becoming  more  and  more  an- 
imated, stood  up  for  the  times  we  live  in.  The  grand- 
mother,   grave    and   serious    as   always,    said    once    to 


228  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Audiffret  at  table,  speaking  of  Renaud  :  "Wait  upon 
your  son,  my  son."  Well,  well,  he  was  decidedly  one 
of  the  family. 

And  that  certainty,  which  it  behooved  him  to  retain 
at  any  price,  instead  of  moving  his  heart  to  gratitude, 
led  him  on  to  play  the  hypocrite.  He  was  ready  to 
betray  Livette,  without  renouncing  her,  for  he  loved 
her  so  dearly,  so  sincerely,  that  he  felt  that  he  was  ready, 
on  the  other  hand,  to  renounce  the  gitana,  without  too 
great  a  pang,  if  circumstances  should  make  it  necessary. 
He  laughed  a  great  deal,  raising  his  glass  with  great 
frequency,  and  winking  involuntarily  at  Audiffret,  as  if 
to  say:  "We  are  sly  fellows!"  But  honest  Audiffret 
could  not  detect  his  excitement.  He  had  never  inter- 
ested himself  in  anything  except  the  farm  accounts. 
He  had  never  divined  anything  in  all  his  life,  not  he  ! — 
As  far  as  the  gipsy  was  concerned,  she  certainly  would 
not  leave  Saintes-Maries  before  the  fete,  that  is  to  say, 
for  a  week  or  more.  After  that,  she  could  go  where 
she  chose !  it  would  make  little  difference  to  him. 
What  could  he  hope  for  from  a  wandering  creature 
like  that  ?  An  hour's  meeting  at  the  cross-roads  on  the 
way  to  Aries  !     Nothing  more  ! 

As  to  Zinzara,  he  had  hopes;  as  to  Livette,  he  had 
certainty.     And  he  was  very  light  of  heart. 

So  it  was,  that,  when  the  time  came  for  him  to  take  his 
leave,  he  indulged  in  an  outburst  of  affection  toward 
his  new  family,  quite  contrary  to  his  usual  habit,  and  to 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  229 

the  habit  of  all  drovers,  who  are  rough-mannered  by 
profession. 

You  must  know  that  the  peasants,  in  general,  do  not 
kiss  except  on  great  occasions — weddings  or  baptisms. 
Only  the  mothers  kiss  their  young  children.  The  man 
of  the  soil  is  of  stern  mould. 

"Audififret,"  the  grandmother  suddenly  said  to  her 
son,  laying  her  knitting  on  the  table  and  her  spectacles 
on  her  knitting; — "  Audiffret,  every  day  brings  me  a 
little  nearer  the  end,  and  I  would  like  to  see  this  mar- 
riage take  place  before  I  die.  You  must  hurry  it  as 
much  as  possible,  now  that  it's  decided  on.  And  if  I 
can't  be  present  on  the  wedding-day,  don't  forget,  my 
children,  that  the  old  woman  blessed  you  from  the 
bottom  of  her  heart  to-night." 

And,  without  another  word,  she  calmly  took  up  the 
stockings  and  needles. 

She  had  spoken  almost  without  inflection,  in  a  grave, 
calm  tone,  moving  her  lips  only. 

Every  one  was  deeply  moved.  Livette  looked  at 
Renaud.  He,  carried  away  by  his  emotion,  forgot 
everything  except  this  new  family  that  offered  itself 
to  him,  the  orphan.  Livette  saw  it  and  was  grate- 
ful to  him  for  it.  She  felt  that  he  was  won  back,  like 
the  stolen  horse,  and  she  sprang  to  her  feet  in  a  burst 
of  enthusiasm. 

' '  Kiss  me,  my  betrothed  ! ' '  said  she  proudly. 

He  kissed  her  with  heartfelt  sincerity. 


230  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

The  father  and  the  grandmother  looked  on  with  eyes 
that  gradually  became  dim  with  tears. 

When  he  had  pressed  the  father's  hand,  Renaud  turned 
to  the  grandmother,  as  she  stuck  her  knitting-needle  into 
the  white  hair  that  fluttered  about  her  temples. 

"  Kiss  me,  grandmother  !  "  he  said,  with  a  smile. 

The  old  woman  gave  a  leap,  then  stood  erect,  recoil- 
ing a  little  as  if  in  fear : 

"Since  my  husband  died,  no  man  has  ever  kissed 
me,"  she  said,  "not  even  my  son  there!  Let  young 
people  kiss.  Life  is  before  them.  I,"  she  added,  "am 
already  with  the  dead." 

And  with  that,  the  old  peasant-woman,  straight  and 
stiff  and  withered, — the  image  of  a  by-gone  time,  when 
it  was  deemed  a  praiseworthy  thing  to  remain  true  to  a 
single  sentiment, — sought  the  bed  of  her  old  age,  which 
was  soon  to  see  her  lying  dead,  with  the  tranquillity  of 
a  simple,  loving,  faithful  heart  upon  her  parchment-like 
face. 


XVIII 

THE   BLESSED   RELICS 

The  great  day  has  arrived.  From  all  parts  of  Langue- 
doc  and  Provence,  pilgrims,  rich  and  poor,  have  come  to 
Saintes-Maries.  There  are  fully  ten  thousand  strangers 
in  the  town. 

For  three  days  past  they  have  been  arriving  in  vehicles 
of  all  shapes  and  of  all  ages. 

Many  of  these  pilgrims  lodge  with  the  villagers  at 
extraordinary,  princely  rates.  A  bunch  of  straw  on  the 
floor  brings  twenty  francs.  The  villager  himself  sleeps 
on  a  chair,  or  passes  the  night  in  the  open  air  on  the 
warm  sand  of  the  dunes.  If  the  bulls  arrive  during 
the  night  for  the  sports  of  the  following  day,  he  assists 
the  drovers  to  drive  them  into  the  compound,  in  the 
wake  of  the  donda'ire,  the  enormous  ox  with  a  bell. 

The  houses  are  soon  filled  to  overflowing.  New-comers 
are  obliged  to  camp.  Tents  are  pitched.  People  live 
in  carts  and  wagons,  in  breaks,  tilburys,  caleches,  omni- 
buses, as  far  away  as  possible,  be  it  understood,  from  the 

gipsy  encampment. 

231 


232  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Around  the  little  town,  the  hundreds  of  vehicles  con- 
stitute a  roving  town  of  their  own,  resting  there  like  a 
flock  of  birds  of  passage  around  a  swamp. 

And  on  all  sides  naught  can  be  seen  but  tattered, 
crippled,  hunchbacked,  deformed,  blind,  or  one-eyed 
creatures,  broken  in  health,  lame,  maimed,  scrofulous, 
and  paralytic,  dragging  themselves  along  or  dragged  by 
others,  carried  in  men's  arms  or  on  litters,  some  with 
bandages  over  their  faces,  others  displaying  unhealed 
wounds  from  which  one  turns  aside  in  horror. 

Here  a  poor  fellow  who  has  been  bitten  by  a  mad  dog 
wanders  about  with  gloomy  brow,  tormented  by  insane 
anxiety  and  hope,  for  a  pilgrimage  to  Saintes-Maries  is 
especially  efficacious  against  hydrophobia. 

All  varieties  of  misfortune  are  represented.  All  the 
children  of  Job  and  Tobias  have  journeyed  hither  to 
find  the  healing  angel  and  the  miraculous  fish. 

A  motley  crowd  swarms  upon  the  public  square  in  the 
bright  sunlight,  and  in  the  narrow  streets,  under  the  lumi- 
nous shadow  of  the  awnings.  From  time  to  time,  it  parts, 
with  loud  shouts,  before  a  drovet,  who  rides  proudly  by, 
his  sweetheart  en  croupe  with  her  arms  about  his  waist. 

Here  and  there  flat  baskets  laden  with  rosaries,  sacred 
images,  Catalan  knives,  and  handkerchiefs  of  brilliant 
hue  stand  out  hke  islets  in  the  midst  of  the  sea  of  prom- 
enaders,  and  all  the  merchandise  displayed  for  sale  takes 
on  a  pink  or  pale-blue  tint  through  the  great  stationary 
umbrellas  that  shield  it  from  the  sun. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  233 

Amid  the  fantastic  piercing  notes  of  a  galoubet,  or 
high-pitched  flute,  tambourines  can  be  heard  humming 
in  cadence  in  the  interior  of  a  wine-shop,  where  young 
girls  of  the  province  are  dancing  in  Proven  gal  costume, 
dark-skinned  girls  with  white  teeth  beneath  their  sensu- 
ous lips ;  very  like  Moors  they  are,  the  descendants  of 
some  Saracen  pirate  who  ravaged  the  Ligurian  shore. 

The  town  is  flooded  with  joyous  light.  Everybody  is 
in  his  Sunday  dress.  Upon  the  fever-haunted  strand, 
whither  a  whole  people  flocks  to  pray  to  the  Saintes 
Maries  for  bodily  health,  that  joyous  sun  is  dangerous. 
The  whole  scene  has  the  appearance  of  a  hospital  ball, 
a  fete  given  by  dying  men.  The  devil  wields  the  baton, 
it  may  be.  One  would  think  it,  to  see  the  faces  of  the 
gipsies,  whose  expression,  notwithstanding  certain  cun- 
ning leers,  is  and  remains  undecipherable. 

In  the  church  with  the  black,  dirt-begrimed  walls, 
filled  with  a  fetid  odor  by  such  an  accumulation  of 
misery,  diseased  flesh,  and  perspiring  humanity,  the 
people  crowd  about  the  iron  balustrade  of  the  little 
well,  as  if  it  were  the  Fountain  of  Youth.  The  poor, 
green,  dilapidated  pitcher  humbly  descends  at  the  end 
of  its  cord  to  bring  up  from  the  sand  below  brackish 
water  that  to-day  seems  sweet. 

Keep  faith  with  them,  O  saints  ! — Faith  gives  what 
one  wishes. 

They  are  waiting  for  four  o'clock,  the  hour  at  Avhich 
the  relics  descend. 


234  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

At  four  o'clock  precisely,  the  shutter  of  the  high 
window  up  yonder,  under  the  ogive  arch  of  the  nave, 
will  open.  The  relics  will  come  down  toward  the  out- 
stretched arms.  The  little  children  will  be  lifted  up 
toward  them.  The  dead  arms  of  the  paralytics  will 
be  raised  toward  them.  The  blind  will  turn  toward 
them  their  sightless  eyes,  or  their  empty,  blood-stained 
orbits. 

Meanwhile,  Livette,  who  is  standing  there  in  the 
centre  of  the  crowd,  directly  in  front  of  the  altar, 
facing  the  grated  door  through  which  you  go  down 
into  the  crypt,  is  preparing  to  sing  the  solo  of  invoca- 
tion. Her  fresh,  pure  voice  is  to  be  the  voice  of  all 
these  wretched  creatures,  crushed  under  the  weight  of 
impurity  and  disease. 

Just  below  the  high  altar,  which  is  studded  with 
tapers,  the  gipsies  are  huddled  together  in  their  crypt, 
with  tapers  in  their  hands,  invoking  Saint  Sara.  The 
vault  is  dark.  The  gipsies  are  black.  The  little  glass 
shrine  of  Saint  Sara  has  become  black  under  the  accu- 
mulated filth  of  years.  From  the  centre  of  the  church 
you  can  see  through  the  grated  opening,  which  resembles 
an  air-hole  of  hell,  the  innumerable  twinkling  lights  of 
the  tapers  below,  waving  to  and  fro  in  the  hands  that 
hold  them.  A  muffled  sound  of  praying  comes  up 
through  the  opening. 

In  the  church,  every  hand  now  has  its  taper,  and  they 
are  rapidly  lighted  one  from  another.     The  lights  dance 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  235 

about  in  the  air.  But  the  interior  of  the  nave  is  dark. 
The  high  walls,  pierced  by  narrow  windows,  are  grimy 
with  age.  And  all  this  obscurity,  where  suffering  and 
misery  crawl  and  cower,  is  studded  with  stars  like  heaven. 
To  the  gipsies  in  the  crypt,  who  will  not  see  the  blessed 
relics  descend,  the  body  of  the  church,  which  they  can 
see  from  below  through  the  air-hole,  is  a  heaven  beyond 
their  reach,  the  world  of  the  elect. 

But  the  elect,  alas  !  are  damned.  Their  heaven  is 
the  chapel  up  yonder,  in  which  the  power  they  invoke 
lies  sleeping,  beneath  the  stained  wood  of  the  boxes, 
like  to  a  double  coffin — the  power  that  may  remain 
deaf,  the  all-powerful  power  that  will  never  perhaps 
awaken  for  any  one,  the  marvellous  power  upon  which 
cures  depend  and  which  withholds  happiness  ! 

Such  was  the  interior  of  the  three-storied  church  of 
Saintes-Maries  on  that  day.  And  above  the  lofty 
chapel,  there  was  the  bell-tower  overlooking  the  whole 
country-side.  Surrounded  by  endless  numbers  of  swal- 
lows and  sea-gulls,  for  centuries  past  it  has  looked  upon 
the  glistening  desert,  the  dazzling  sea,  the  dumb  infini- 
tude of  space,  which  could  explain  things  if  it  would, 
but  only  beams  and  laughs. 

The  hour  drew  near.     The  crowd  was  panting  with 
heat  and  hope  and  fear. 

Renaud  was  not  there. 

''Remember — we  promised  to  burn  three  tapers  each 
before  the  relics,"  Livette  had  said  to  him. 


236  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

"I  will  come  to-night,"  was  his  reply.  "There's 
the  branding  to-day.     I  have  to  look  after  my  bulls." 

So  Livette  was  a  little  distraught.  She  was  thinking 
of  joining  Renaud,  of  being  present  at  the  branding,  of 
keeping  an  eye  on  her  betrothed.     Where  was  he  ? 

But  Monsieur  le  cure  made  a  sign :  Livette  began  to 
sing.  Alas  !  why  was  not  her  lover  there  ?  Her  voice, 
which  she  knew  was  pleasant  to  the  ear,  might  have 
some  effect  on  him.  How  eagerly  he  listened  to  the 
gipsy's  singing  the  other  day  ! — Livette  sang,  and  the 
buzzing  of  prayers  and  litanies  and  invocations  of  all 
sorts,  that  every  one  was  indulging  in  on  his  or  her  own 
account,  subsided  as  her  clear,  pure  voice  arose.  O  God ! 
what  is  this  humanity  of  ours?  It  is  vile  and  abject, 
but  it  has  some  sense  of  shame.  The  basest  know  how 
to  pray  that  they  may  be  cured  of  their  baseness.  And, 
however  much  they  may  have  rolled  in  the  mire  of  their 
natural  inclinations,  a  time  comes  when  they  set  the 
flame  alight,  when  they  burn  incense,  and  when  all  keep 
silent  to  listen  to  the  voice  ascending  to  Heaven,  implor- 
ing for  them  a  grace  that  no  one  knows,  that  perhaps 
does  not  exist,  but  that  every  one  imagines  and  desires ! 

"  Eat  your  excrement,  dog  !  "  say  the  gipsies ;  "what 
care  I?  There  is  a  light  in  the  dog's  eye  that  is  not 
often  seen  in  the  eyes  of  kings." 

Livette  sang.     The  cure  said  to  himself: 

"O  my  God,  mayhap  this  child  of  Thine  will  obtain 
favor  in  Thy  sight !  " 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  237 

Livette's  voice  was  as  fresh  as  the  water  of  salvation 
for  which  the  assembled  multitude  thirsted.  And  how 
intently  they  listened  !  But,  at  the  end  of  each  stanza, 
weary  of  restraining  their  tumultuous  ejaculations  of 
hope,  they  sent  up  from  thousands  of  throats  an  inar- 
ticulate roar  in  which  only  the  two  words :  Saintes 
Maries  !  could  be  distinguished. 

Livette  sang : 

"  Quand  vous  etiez  sur  la  grande  eau, 
Sans  rames  a  votre  bateau, 
Saintes  Maries ! 

Rien  que  la  mer,  rien  que  les  cieux 

Vous  appeliez  de  tous  vos  yeux 
La  douceur  des  plages  fleuries."  ^ 

"  Saintes  Maries  /  "  roared  the  people;  uttered  at  the 
same  moment  by  a  thousand  voices  acting  upon  a  com- 
mon impulse,  the  frenzied  appeal  was  like  an  explosion. 

Every  one  shouted  with  all  his  strength,  for  the  saints 
must  be  made  to  hear  !  Every  one  shouted  with  all  his 
lungs,  with  all  his  heart,  with  all  his  body,  one  might 
say.  Heaven  is  so  far  away !  Open-mouthed,  their  faces 
twitching  convulsively,  they  gazed  upward.  The  veins 
in  their  necks  were  swollen  to  the  bursting-point.  The 
muscles  swelled  and  thickened  in  faces  to  which  the 
blood  rushed  in  torrents.  The  brothers,  lovers,  hus- 
bands, mothers,  fathers,  of  the  sufferers,  availed  them- 
selves of  their  own  strength  to  call  for  help,  howling 
like   wounded   wild   beasts   turned    toward    the   dawn. 


238  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

All  this  suffering  multitude,  all  this  swarming  heap  of 
tainted,  diseased  flesh,  uttered  the  terrifying  roar  of  a 
monster  in  pain — and  still  the  pretematurally  shrill 
shriek  of  some  doting  mother  would  soar  above  the 
horrid  uproar.  And  all  around  the  church,  filled  with 
the  nameless  appeals  of  these  damned  of  earth,  lay  the 
calm,  silent  desert,  the  blue,  foam-flecked  sea,  the  bril- 
liant sunlight,  insensible  to  everything. 

"  Sous  le  soleil,  sous  les  etoiles, 
De  vos  robes  faisant  des  voiles 

( Vogue,  bateau  ! ) 
Sept  jours,  sept  nuits  vous  naviguates, 
Sans  voir  ni  trois-ponts  ni  fregates 


Rien  que  la  mer  et  la  grande  eau  ! ' ' 


10 


"  Saifites  Maries  /"  roared  the  people,  and  each  time 
the  shout  burst  forth  from  thousands  of  throats,  suddenly 
and  at  the  same  instant,  with  the  effect  of  a  strange  kind 
of  explosion. 

"  Dicu  qui  fait  son  fouet  d'un  eclair, 
Pour  fouetter  le  ciel  et  la  mer, 
Saintes  Maries ! 

Amena  la  barque  a  bon  port 

Un  ange,  qui  parut  h  bord, 

Vous  montra  des  plages  fleuries  !  "  !• 

'' SainUs  Maries/"  the  people  roared  again.  And 
the  appealing  cry,  made  up  of  so  many  cries,  burst  forth 
with  a  sound  like  that  made  by  a  great  wave  that  breaks 
against  a  cliff  and  is  instantly  scattered  about  in  foam  ! 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  239 

And  again  the  young  girl's  voice  arose  above  all  the 
vociferating,  grinning  creatures.  Might  not  one  fancy 
that  he  saw  a  sea-swallow,  white  as  the  dove  of  the 
Ark,  soaring  over  a  bottomless  abyss  ? 

"  Vous  pour  qui  Dieu  fit  ce  miracle, 
Voyez,  devant  son  tabernacle, 

Tous  a  genoux, 
Souilles  du  peche  de  naissance, 
Nous  invoquons  votre  puissance, 


Saintes  femmes,  protegez-nous  !  "  12 

And  for  the  last  time,  the  deafening,  harsh  cry  arose  : 

* '  Saintes  Maries  / ' ' 

Oh  !  the  thousand,  two  thousand  ejaculations  of  insane 
longing  that  flew  upward,  at  a  single  flight,  flapping  all 
their  wings  at  once,  to  fall  back,  dead,  upon  themselves. 

It  is  very  certain  that  there  was  in  that  frenzied  appeal 
all  the  madness  of  suffering,  all  the  wrath  of  unsatisfied 
longing,  and  rage  as  of  unchained  beasts,  against  the 
very  beings  they  implored. 

Meanwhile,  the  double  shutter  up  above  had  not  yet 
been  thrown  open.  And  Livette,  in  accordance  with 
the  cure's  instructions,  was  to  repeat  the  last  verse. 

So  she  began  again  : 

"Vous  pour  qui  Dieu  fit  ce  miracle " 


But  these  first  words  had  hardly  passed  her  lips  when 
her  voice  faltered  and  died  away.     For  a  few  seconds 


240  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

there  was  a  silence  as  of  utter  amazement  in  the  church. 
Of  what  was  Livette  thinking?  Of  what? — For  the 
last  minute,  just  God  !  her  eyes  had  been  obstinately 
fixed  upon  the  black  opening  leading  to  the  crypt.  In 
that  opening,  on  a  level  with  the  floor  of  the  church, 
she  had  seen  a  head :  it  was  the  gipsy  queen,  who  had 
come  up  from  the  crypt,  in  mischievous  mood,  curious 
to  see  Livette  singing.  Immediately  below  the  great 
altar  she  emerged  from  the  dark  depths  of  the  cellar 
amid  the  ascending  smoke  of  the  tapers.  She  came  from 
her  kingdom  below,  and  with  her  copper  crown  and 
gleaming  ear-rings,  her  swarthy  skin  and  her  fiery  black 
eyes,  she  seemed  to  Livette  a  genuine  devil  from  hell. 

Zinzara  ascended  two  steps  more  and  her  bust  ap- 
peared. She  darted  a  keen,  penetrating  glance  at 
Livette.  That  is  why  Livette  was  confused,  and  why 
she  called  with  all  her  strength  upon  the  women  of 
compassion,  the  holy  women  above,  for  help  against 
this  woman  from  the  chapel  below. 

But  the  shutters  that  concealed  the  shrines  were 
opened  at  last.  And  slowly,  very  slowly,  they  de- 
scended, swinging  from  side  to  side,  with  a  slight  jerky 
movement,  at  the  ends  of  the  two  ropes,  embellished 
here  and  there  with  little  bunches  of  flowers. 

Is  not  this  the  image  of  every  life?  Is  there  aught  else 
in  the  world?  Something  descends  from  heaven,  some- 
thing ascends  from  hell ;  and  we  suffer  with  hope  and  fear. 

* '  Saintes  Maries  ! ' ' 


ortapfer  X\mM 


The  relics  slowly  descended,  and,  amid  the  roars  that 
greeted  them,  Livette,  in  her  overwrought  imagination, 
fancied  that  she  saw  herself  clinging  to  Renaud,  be- 
seeching him  to  be  faithful  and  kind  to  her,  and  not  to 
go  to  tliat  other  woman. 


KING  OF  CAM  A 

t;icro  was  a  siicnt-c  as  of  uttei  ■  "-  -"-  >  ^lurcn. 

Of  what  was   Livctte   think i  what?— For  the 

last  minute,  just  God!  her  ..  -  uad  beer  '  lately 
fixed  upon  the  black  openi^  ding  to  th^  ^^j^'-     In 

that  opening,  on  a  level  \\  .<;  uie  floor  of  the  church, 
she  had  seen  a  head :  it  was  the  gipsy  queen,  who  had 
come  up  from  the  crypt,  ;.  mischievous  mood,  curious 
to  see  Livette  singing.  •  ;raediately  below  the  great 
altar  she  emerged  from  i  .>c  dark  depths  of  the  cellar 
amid  the  as^sfvU^^^'^  i%^apers.    She  came  from 

her  kingdon?  below*  ^w..  ViHi  her  copper  crown  and 
gleaming  ear-rings, -hef^sw.Trthy  skin  and  her  fiery  black 
eye-  mM  to  I  '  gimuine  devil  from  hell. 

Zinzura  't  t»...   v^eps  more  and  her  bust  ap- 

.v\   ^^^^f?.^?^.^^  mi^'^V^  AA%V^^^  c^=¥<^  ^^  ^Vu^^^^^  why 
Q\  \Q«ltoesiQTiHkl^V'itiii'>aW\vhr\N\Wi3sS^>^  <ii^ans\t^e«\wMien  of 
compassion,  the  holy      ,wjj«^,^1^s^q  ^ft^^l^^ip^-f gainst 
woman  from  the  '  below. 

But   the    shuttc  aicealed   the   shrines   were 

opened   at   last.      An  !y,   very   slowly,   they  de- 

scended, swinging  from  side,  with  a  slight  jerky 

movem.  the  ends  two  ropes,  embellished 

here  and  there  with  littl  les  of  flowers. 

Is  not  th  life?    Is  there  aught  else 

in  the  world?     Somethin  i,   from  heaven,  some- 

thii  1  hell ;  a  -r  with  hope  and  fear. 


IllPi  MTi 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  241 

Amid  the  vociferations  of  the  crowd,  Livette  lost  her 
head,  she  forgot  to  sing,  and,  carried  away  by  the  pre- 
vailing excitement,  hope,  and  terror,  she  began  to  cry 
aloud  with  all  the  rest,  like  a  lost  soul,  while  Zinzara, 
from  below,  continued  to  gaze  fixedly  at  her. 

What  would  you  say,  Monsieur  le  cure,  to  Livette's 
thoughts,  who,  — poor  creature  of  the  world  we  live 
in  ! — between  the  holy  women  and  the  woman  devil, 
no  longer  knew  which  way  to  turn  ?  Had  she  not  reason 
to  tremble  ?  For  the  shrines  descend  to  no  purpose,  they 
bring  us  naught  but  dead  relics — while  the  sorceress  is 
a  creature  of  flesh  and  blood,  whose  feet  walk,  whose 
eyes  see ! 

Far  away  from  us,  in  the  land  of  dreams,  of  super- 
natural hopes,  above  the  sky  and  the  stars,  are  the 
sainted  souls  that  have  pity  for  mankind ;  as  far  from 
man  as  Paradise  itself  are  the  chaste  women  who  em- 
balm the  crucified  ones  in  herbs  and  spices,  while  she 
is  close  at  hand,  always  ready,  always  armed  against  the 
repose  of  Christian  souls,  she,  queen  of  diabolic  love, 
who,  seeking  only  to  gratify  her  caprice,  makes  sport  of 
everything  ! 

Livette  became  more  and  more  confused  beneath 
Zinzara's  steadfast  glance,  and  she  tried  in  vain,  after 
silence  had  at  last  been  restored,  to  resume  the  invoca- 
tion.    She  faltered  and  stopped  again. 

Thereupon  there  was  great  confusion  among  the 
waiting   multitude.      All   those   men   and  women  who 


242  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

were  holding  their  peace  in  order  to  listen  to  the  out- 
pouring of  their  own  souls  in  the  maiden's  voice,  to 
the  pure,  unspoken  prayer  which  was  in  their  hearts, 
but  which  they  could  not  put  in  words,  had  been  thrown 
back  once  more,  and  more  despairingly  than  ever,  upon 
themselves,  upon  their  own  helplessness,  when  Livette's 
voice  died  away.  Just  at  the  decisive  moment,  their 
interpreter  failed  them  !  They  were  afraid  of  their  pro- 
found silence,  so  contrary  to  the  impulses  of  their  hearts. 
In  order  to  be  heard  on  high,  their  prayer  must  be 
offered ;  and,  seized  by  the  same  thought,  every  one 
began  to  shout  or  sing  on  his  own  account,  some  be- 
ginning again  at  the  very  beginning,  others  taking  the 
stanza  they  knew  by  heart  or  had  before  them  in  a 
book,  others  repeating  at  random  bits  of  the  litanies, 
one  the  credo,  another  i\\e  pater,  and  never  did  prayers 
offered  up  to  God  create  such  a  hellish  uproar,  since  the 
discordant  cries  of  all  the  sorrows  of  mankind  ascended 
to  Heaven. 

Stronger  women  than  Livette  would  have  been  dis- 
turbed as  she  was,  would  have  felt  their  powers  failing. 
She  put  her  hand  to  her  forehead  to  detain  her  mind 
that  seemed  to  be  making  its  escape.  Was  not  she  the 
cause  of  all  this  trouble  ?  What  would  become  of  her, 
in  this  state?     She  was  afraid  and  ashamed  at  once. 

Instead  of  looking  up,  instead  of  watching  the  blessed 
relics  that  had  now  accomplished  half  of  their  descent, 
she  could  not  refrain  from  returning  the  fixed  stare  of 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  243 

the  gipsy  woman  below,  whose  eyes  seemed  to  pierce 
her  soul. 

Livette  suffered  keenly.  The  gipsy's  gaze  entered 
into  her  very  being,  and  she  felt  that  she  could  do 
nothing.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  a  sharp-toothed  beast 
were  gnawing  at  her  heart.  Instead  of  praying,  she 
listened  to  the  terrible  thoughts  within  her.  She  fancied 
that  she  could  feel  the  hatred  go  out  from  her  with  the 
glances  that  shot  from  her  eyes !  She  tried  to  stab  to 
the  heart  with  it  that  creature  who  was  defying  her 
down  there.  Would  not  somebody  kill  the  witch,  who 
was  the  cause  of  everything?  Ah!  Saintes  Maries! 
what  thoughts  for  such  a  place  !   at  such  a  time ! 

The  relics  slowly  descended,  and,  amid  the  roars  that 
greeted  them,  Livette,  in  her  overwrought  imagination, 
fancied  that  she  saw  herself  clinging  to  Renaud,  be- 
seeching him  to  be  faithful  and  kind  to  her,  and  not 
to  go  to  that  other  woman ;  and  when  he  refused  and 
left  her,  she  leaped  at  tlie  gipsy's  face  and  scratched  her 
and  clawed  at  her  like  a  cat. 

Thus  the  sorceress's  soul  passed  into  Livette.  Already, 
without  suspecting  it,  she  had  begun  to  resemble  her 
enemy,  the  gitana  who  leaped  at  the  nostrils  of  Renaud' s 
horse  the  other  day.  And  yet  this  little  fair-haired  girl 
was  not  one  of  the  dark-skinned  maidens  of  Aries,  who 
have  African  and  Asian  blood  in  their  veins !  No 
matter;  she,  too,  has  a  wild  beast's  fits  of  passion. 
Love  and  jealousy  are  at  work  making  a  v/oman's  soul. 


2^^  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

The  relics  were  still  descending;  and  Livette  fever- 
ishly told  o^pa/ers  and  aves  on  her  rosary. — Patience  ! 
on  the  day  after  the  fete,  the  gipsies,  she  knows,  will 
leave  the  town  !     Two  more  days  and  her  agony  will  be 

at  an  end. 

Meanwhile— she  makes  this  vow  in  presence  of  the 
relics— she  will  not  gratify  Renaud  by  showing  that 
she  is  jealous,  as  she  is,  and  not  until  later — when 
Zinzara  is  far  away,  and  there  is  no  chance  of  her 
coming  back — will  she,  perhaps,  tell  her  promised  hus- 
band that  he  lied  to  her,  that  he  is  a  traitor,  because, 
instead  of  avenging  her  upon  the  gipsy,  he  was  false 
to  his  fiancee  with  her — for  of  course  he  is  false  to 
her,  as  he  is  not  there!— She  will  tell  him,  then,  not 
in  a  passion,  but  to  punish  him.  It  will  be  no  more 
than  justice. 

By  dint  of  uncoiling  themselves  by  little  jerks,  the 
ropes  have  lowered  the  relics  almost  within  reach  of 
the  hands  stretched  up  to  meet  them.  Thereupon  the 
rabble  of  poor  devils  could  contain  itself  no  longer. 
Every  one  was  determined  to  be  the  first  to  touch  them. 
Those  who  were  already  in  the  choir,  directly  below  the 
hanging  relics,  lost  their  footing,  crowded  as  they  were 
by  those  who  were  pressing  in  from  the  body  of  the 
church,  jostling  and  crushing  one  another  with  a  con- 
stant pressure.  Livette  was  borne  along  on  the  wave, 
seeing  nothing,  and  with  but  one  thought  in  her  mind — 
to  touch  the  consecrated  relics  herself! — That  she  felt 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  245 

she  must  do,  so  that  she  might  escape  the  influence  of 
the  glance  the  black  woman  had  cast  at  her.  She 
would  seek  to  turn  aside  the  fatal  spell  that  had  been 
upon  her  ever  since  her  first  meeting  with  the  sorceress  ! 
But  would  she  reach  the  shrines  ? — Livette  felt  that  she 
was  seized  by  two  strong  arms.  She  turned:  it  was 
Renaud !  He  had  just  entered  the  church  with  two 
other  drovers,  his  friends.  These  three  young  men, 
glowing  with  the  outside  sunlight,  healthy  and  strong, 
amid  the  lame  and  halt  and  blind,  had  the  insolent 
bearing — cruel  without  meaning  to  be — of  manly  beauty, 
of  life  itself.  They  extricated  the  girl  and  made  a  ring 
about  her.     She  was  able  to  breathe. 

"  Would  you  like  to  touch  the  rehcs,  demoisellette  ?  " 
Forcing  their  way  before  her,  without  great  effort,  but 
pitilessly,  through  the  crowd  of  cripples,  they  cleared 
a  passage  for  her.  Livette  walked  quickly,  she  drew 
near  the  spot,  and  Renaud,  seizing  her  around  the  waist, 
lifted  her  up  like  a  child  so  that  she  touched  the  conse- 
crated relics  first  of  all ! 

Still  with  the  three  youths  as  a  body-guard,  before 
whom  all  were  fain  to  stand  aside,  and  without  further 
thought — poor  you  !  it  is  the  law  of  the  world — of  the 
innumerable,  nameless  perils  by  which  she  was  encom- 
passed, she  left  the  church  content.  Peace  had  found 
its  way  into  her  heart  once  more.  Her  Renaud  was 
there  by  her  side.  Was  all  that  she  had  dreaded  a 
dream  and  nothing  more? 


246  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

"  Ah !  it  is  good  to  be  outside  !  "  he  said,  filling  his 
lungs  with  the  fresh  air. 

"Yes,  but  when  will  you  light  the  tapers,  Renaud, 
that  you  are  to  burn  in  the  church  as  I  promised  for 


I?" 


you 

"Oh!   I  have  a  whole  day  before  me,"  he  replied. 
"Now  let  us  go  to  the  races." 


XIX 

THE   BRANDING 

The  relics  having  descended,  the  majority  of  those 
present  left  the  dark  church  and  returned  to  the  dazzling 
outside  world. 

As  the  crowd  poured  out  through  the  narrow  side- 
doors,  another  crowd  was  forcing  its  way  in  through 
the  main  entrance,  making  but  slow  progress, — two  or 
three  steps  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour, — all  hot  and  per- 
spiring, in  a  cloud  of  luminous  dust. 

Many  young  men  were  there,  for  the  pleasure  of  being 
pressed  by  the  crowd  against  the  pretty  girls,  their  sweet- 
hearts, whose  sinuous  bodies  they  could  feel  against  their 
own,  and  who  could  not  escape  them  there.  How  many 
hands  and  waists  were  squeezed  which  the  mothers  could 
not  see ! 

And  in  undertones  they  said : 

"I  love  you,  Lionnette." 

"Fie,  Francois  !  " 

"  Let  me  go,  Tiennet ! " 

Thus,  beside   the   infirm   and   incurable,   who  know 

naught  of  the  good  things  of  life,  love  saucily  sports 

247 


248  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

and  laughs,  feels  its  own  force,  and  seeks  return.  The 
incense  in  the  church  serves  only  to  inflame  its  desire, 
and  more  than  one  youth  offers  his  beloved  a  rosary, 
whose  boxwood  cross  he  has  ardently  kissed  before  her 
eyes,  so  that  she  may  find  the  kiss  with  her  lips. 

All  day  long,  the  pilgrims  and  invalids  enter  the 
church.  Many  will  pass  the  night  there,  keeping  vigil 
with  the  tapers,  on  their  knees  or  prostrate  before  the 
relics ;  and  more  than  one,  each  in  his  turn,  will  lie 
down  upon  them,  on  cushions  brought  expressly  for 
the  purpose. 

For  the  moment — it  is  the  first  day  of  the  fete — noth- 
ing is  talked  about  in  the  streets  of  the  town  save  the 
bulls  and  the  sports. 

"Are  you  going  to  the  races?" 

"Yes." 

"Does  Prince  run?  He's  the  best  horse  in  all  the 
droves. ' ' 

"No,  he  won't  run;  Renaud,  who  usually  handles 
him,  told  me  that  he  was  too  tired." 

"  Pshaw  !  what  a  pity  !  " 

"What  about  the  bulls?  Shall  we  have  any  that  are 
a  bit  ugly?" 

"  There's  Sirous  and  Dogue  and  Machicoulis.  I  cut 
them  out  myself  with  Bernard  and  Renaud.  They  gave 
us  a  lot  of  trouble !  They  refused  to  leave  the  herd. 
As  soon  as  we  got  them  out,  back  they  would  go  again. 
But  we  set  Martin  and  Conimetoi  dX  them,  two  bull-dogs 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  249 

that  can't  be  matched  anywhere ;  and  even  Machicoulis 
obeyed  at  last !  ' ' 

"  Martiti  and  Commetoi  ? — Those  are  curious  names 
for  dogs  !  ' ' 

"  It's  a  joke.  When  any  one  asks :  '  How  is  your  dog 
called?'"  The  dog's  master  replies:  ^Commetoi!' 
[Like  yourself.]  The  other  man  gets  angry,  and  it 
raises  a  laugh." 

"And  what  about  the  full-blooded  Spanish  bull,  with 
the  horns  twisted  like  a  lyre ;  shall  we  see  him?  " 

^^ Angel  Pastor?  He  is  sick.  I  like  our  straight- 
horned  bulls  better.  The  important  thing  is  that  the 
horns  should  be  far  enough  apart  for  a  man's  body  to 
go  between  them." 

"Are  there  any  heifers?" 

"One,  a  wicked  one — Serpentined 

"And  bioulets?'' 

"Young  bulls,  do  you  mean?  Renaud  has  kept  six 
of  them,  expressly  to  give  the  strangers  a  chance  to  see 
a  branding. ' ' 

"  When  will  the  branding  come  off  ?  " 

"  In  a  moment.     Suppose  we  go  to  see  it." 

The  gipsy  was  present  at  the  branding. 

The  arena  was  against  the  church,  at  the  end  opposite 
the  main  entrance. 

The  many-sided  irregular  enclosure  was  formed  on 
one  side  by  the  high  wall  of  the  church;  on  another, 
by  a  house  standing  by  itself,  against  which  was  a  series 


250  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

of  roughly  made  benches,  one  above  another ;  on  still 
another  side  by  three  or  four  small  houses,  each  of 
whose  windows  formed  a  frame  for  a  dozen  or  more 
heads  of  young  men  and  women,  crowded  together  and 
all  laughing  gaily.  At  the  base  of  one  of  these  houses 
was  a  cafe  with  a  glass  door  opening  on  the  arena  and 
barricaded  by  tables  and  overturned  chairs.  On  each 
side  of  the  door  was  drawn,  in  deepest  black,  a  silhouette 
of  a  bull  of  the  Camargue  type,  that  is  to  say,  with  straight 
horns  of  ample  proportions. 

On  all  sides  of  the  enclosure  where  there  were  no 
stone  walls,  their  place  was  supplied  by  wagons  bound 
firmly  together  by  their  shafts. 

At  the  corner  of  the  wall  of  the  church,  there  were 
three  great  iron  rings  one  above  another,  and  through 
them  were  thrust  three  wooden  bars,  which  could  be 
moved  back  and  forth  at  will. 

These  bars  were  to  be  let  down  for  the  young  bulls 
which  were  to  be  turned  out  of  the  arena,  one  by  one, 
after  they  had  been  branded,  to  find  their  way  alone  to 
the  desert.  Outside  the  bars,  a  system  of  barricades 
closed  the  streets  of  the  town  to  them,  and — by  compel- 
ling them  to  go  behind  the  few  houses  facing  the  arena 
— guided  them,  whether  they  would  or  not,  to  the  mar- 
gin of  the  open  plain  in  less  than  a  hundred  steps. 

Zinzara  was  present,  as  we  have  said,  standing  in  a 
wagon.  She  followed  with  impassive  glance  all  the  hap- 
penings within  the  arena,  grotesque  and  heroic  alike. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  251 

These  duels  between  man  and  beast  are  grand  or 
disgusting  according  to  the  character  of  the  adver- 
saries. It  sometimes  happens  that  the  man  attacks  in 
a  cowardly  fashion,  or  that  the  beast,  from  astonishment 
it  may  be,  or  fatigue,  turns  about  and  tries  to  return  to 
the  stable.     Fine  contests  are  rare. 

Sometimes  a  sharp  stone  is  thrown  from  a  safe  dis- 
tance by  a  disloyal  foe.  The  surprised  beast  receives 
it  full  in  the  face;  the  blood  flows  in  long  streams 
from  his  nostrils  to  the  ground.  He  looks  straight 
before  him,  his  great  eyes  filled  with  mirage,  and  does 
not  budge,  as  if  he  were  at  once  saddened  and  con- 
temptuous. 

Sometimes  a  mischievous  rascal  has  the  happy  thought 
of  coming  very  close  to  him  and  throwing  sand  in  his 
eyes  by  the  handful.  Another,  more  mischievous  than 
he,  covers  the  bull  with  filth  collected  from  the  gutter ! 
But  the  sand-thrower,  being  spattered  thereby,  himself 
picks  up  a  handful,  and  the  two  heroes  engage  in  a  fierce 
battle  with  dung  picked  up  smoking  from  the  ground 
under  the  bull's  very  tail,  amid  the  laughter  and  applause 
of  a  whole  population,  until  the  champions,  reeking  with 
filth,  are  abruptly  separated  by  the  bull,  who  bestirs 
himself  at  last  and  charges  them. 
"  This  way  !  this  way,  Livette  !  " 

Livette  had  just  come  into  the  arena.  Her  young 
friends  called  her  and  gladly  moved  closer  together  to 
make  room  for  her  on  the  benches. 


252  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

A  Stable  just  beside  the  cafe  had  been  transformed 
into  a  toril.  Just  above  the  door  of  the  stable  was  the 
long  window  of  the  hay-loft,  level  with  the  floor.  Two 
herdsmen,  sitting  in  the  window  with  their  legs  hang- 
ing outside,  rose  from  time  to  time,  and  could  be  seen 
pricking  the  dondatre,  the  beloved  leader  of  the  herd, 
through  the  holes  in  the  floor  above  the  hay-racks. 
The  dondatre  would  thereupon  go  out  and  lead  the 
tired  bull  back  to  the  stable.  Every  time  that  a  new 
beast  left  the  toril,  or  one  that  was  tired  out  returned, 
a  dexterous  hand  swiftly  closed  the  door. 

All  these  things,  which  were  probably  by  no  means 
new  to  the  gipsy,  who  was  doubtless  familiar  with  the 
tragic  entertainments  of  Madrid  and  Seville,  left  her 
unmoved.  Her  eye  did  not  kindle ;  it  was  as  dull  and 
vague  as  a  heifer's. 

The  "amateurs  "  played  with  a  few  bulls.  They  were 
not  ill-tempered.  Somebody  seized  one  of  them  by 
the  tail.  A  whole  party  clung  to  his  skirts,  dancing  the 
farandole — but  were  soon  scattered.  The  performance 
thus  far  was  not  inspiriting,  but  it  was  amusing. 

Behind  the  glass  door  of  the  cafe,  which  opened  on 
the  arena,  some  congenial  spirits  were  emptying  a  bottle 
and  smoking  while  they  enjoyed  the  spectacle.  The 
door  was  barricaded  by  a  rampart  of  overturned  tables, 
with  their  legs  in  the  air  and  passed  through  a  net-work 
of  broken  chairs. 

Suddenly  the  bull,  overturning  tables  and  chairs,  put 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  253 

the  drinkers  to  flight :  he  had  thrust  his  bulky  head 
through  a  square  of  glass.  The  cafe  rang  with  shouts 
of  alarm  mingled  with  amusement.  The  wagons  in  the 
arena  shook  with  the  joyous  stamping  of  their  occupants ; 
the  planks  were  torn  off  by  excited  hands ;  the  people 
at  the  windows  of  the  little  houses  rattled  the  shutters 
noisily  in  their  delight.  To  see  the  crowds  on  the  roofs 
laugh  made  one  fear  that  they  would  fall  in.  Thus  was 
the  frolicsome  bull  applauded.  The  gipsy  alone  did  not 
smile. 

A  great  oat-bin  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  arena,  placed 
there  purposely  perhaps.  A  very  old  man, — not  too 
old  to  play  the  merry -andrew, — armed  with  an  old 
red  umbrella,  raised  the  lid,  climbed  into  the  bin,  and 
opened  his  umbrella,  which  was  of  the  most  brilliant 
shade  of  red.  The  bull  rushed  at  him — the  old  man 
let  the  lid  fall.  Bin  and  umbrella  closed  at  the  same 
moment  upon  the  laughing  bald  head.  The  hilarity  of 
the  public  was  at  its  height.  The  gipsy  did  not  seem 
amused  by  the  old  man's  drollery. — Nor  did  she  laugh 
when  a  manikin  was  set  up  in  the  centre  of  the  arena 
and  the  bull  carried  him  off  on  his  horns  and  hurled 
him  into  the  midst  of  the  spectators ;  and  she  did  not 
even  smile  when,  a  window  on  the  ground-floor  of  one 
of  the  houses  being  thrown  open,  a  little  child  was  seen 
in  his  mother's  arms,  behind  the  iron  bars,  teasing  the 
furious  animal.  Laughing  with  glee,  he  held  a  play- 
thing out  through  the  bars,  a  little  pasteboard  windmill, 


254  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

whose  pink  and  blue  wings  were  made  to  turn  by  the 
monster's  breath. 

Then  came  a  tragic  episode.  A  man — an  amateur — 
struck  by  the  sharp  horns ;  his  thigh  pierced  from  side 
to  side ;  the  first  cowardly  movement  of  flight  on  the 
part  of  the  other  contestants ;  the  return  of  the  valiant 
fellows,  who  diverted  the  bull's  attention  and  drew  him 
off  while  the  wounded  man  was  removed,  accompanied 
by  the  piercing  shrieks  of  his  wife  and  daughter. 

At  last,  the  serious  business  of  the  day  began.  It  was 
announced  that  the  branding  was  about  to  take  place. 
Immediately  thereafter  would  come  the  game  of  the 
"cockades,"  which  consists  in  snatching  a  cockade 
suspended  between  the  bull's  horns  by  a  thread.  With 
his  hand  or  with  a  hooked  stick  the  rider  breaks  the 
thread,  snatches  the  cockade— Cr^/r .'  a  quick  recovery, 
and  the  victor  has  won  the  scarf! 

The  branding  is  hard  work  turned  into  a  game;  it 
consists  in  branding  young  bulls  with  a  red-hot  iron, 
with  their  owner's  cipher. 

A  young  bull  having  been  turned  into  the  arena, 
Renaud  walked  up  to  him,  and,  as  the  beast  made  a 
rush,  cleverly  avoided  him  by  turning  upon  his  heel. 
The  bull  having,  thereupon,  stopped  short,  Renaud 
seized  him  by  the  horns. 

Clinging  to  him  with  his  hands,  closed  like  knots  of 
steel  about  the  horns,  the  man  was  dragged  for  a  mo- 
ment,  standing,  over  the  ground,   in  which   his  thick 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  255 

soles  dug  ribbon-like  furrows.  The  spectators  clapped 
their  hands.  The  bull  lowered  his  head  and  stood  still. 
Renaud,  with  his  legs  apart  and  bent  a  little,  and  his 
feet  firmly  planted  in  the  ground,  threw  all  his  weight 
to  the  left.  All  the  muscles  of  his  chest  and  arms  stood 
out  beneath  his  shirt,  which  was  glued  to  his  skin  by 
perspiration.  The  bull,  with  all  his  sluggish  strength, 
tried  to  throw  himself  in  the  opposite  direction.  Sud- 
denly Renaud  gave  way,  and  the  bull,  losing  the  support 
of  his  resistance,  fell  heavily  before  a  sudden  contrary 
effort.  And  there  he  lay  at  full  length  on  the  ground, 
gasping  for  breath. 

The  man,  who  had  not  released  his  hold,  forced  his 
head  to  the  ground  by  sitting  on  it. 

"  Bravo,  king  !   bravo,  king  !  "  cried  the  crowd. 

Bernard  took  the  red-hot  iron  from  a  brazier  and 
carried  it  to  Renaud,  who,  thereupon,  let  go  one  horn, 
and  kneeling  heavily  upon  the  beast's  withers,  seized 
the  iron  with  his  right  hand  and  pressed  it  against  his 
shoulder.  The  hair  and  flesh  smoked  and  crackled. 
Renaud  rose  quickly,  and  the  bull,  springing  suddenly 
to  his  feet,  shook  himself  all  over,  lashed  his  sides  with 
his  tail,  bellowed  with  anger,  pawed  the  ground  with  his 
foot,  and,  amid  the  shouts  of  the  crowd,  darted  through 
the  barrier,  which  was  opened  at  that  moment.  A  mo- 
ment later,  he  could  be  seen  far  away  on  the  plain,  gal- 
loping at  full  speed.  He  soon  rejoined  the  drove  which 
he  or  any  of  his  fellows  can  readily  find  for  themselves. 


256  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

even  if  it  be  on  the  other  side  of  the  Rhone,  which  they 
often  swim. 

Six  bulls,  one  after  another,  were  thus  thrown  down 
by  Renaud. 

The  sport  enlivened  him,  he  was  intoxicated  by  the 
consciousness  of  his  great  strength.  Excited  even  more 
by  the  applause  of  the  people,  he  trembled  from  head  to 
foot.  From  time  to  time,  he  wiped  the  great  beads  of 
perspiration  from  his  forehead  with  the  back  of  his 
hand. 

A  sunbeam  fell  across  one  side  of  the  arena,  which 
lay  in  the  dark  shadow  of  the  high  church-wall.  Renaud 
ran  thither,  hatless,  in  shirt-sleeves  and  close-fitting  red 
breechcloth,  shaking  the  short  curly  locks  of  his  thick, 
jet-black  hair. 

The  girls  applauded,  I  promise  you,  more  loudly  than 
the  young  men,  who  were  somewhat  jealous.  Zinzara's 
eye — her  wagon  was  standing  in  the  ray  of  sunlight — 
kindled  at  last. — And  Livette,  blushing  deeply,  was 
proud  of  her  king. 

When  the  sixth  bull  he  had  thrown  was  still  under  his 
knee,  Renaud  made  a  sign  to  Bernard.  Bernard  ran  to 
him,  knelt  beside  him,  and  seized  the  bull  by  the  horns 
in  his  stead.  Another  drover  came  to  help  Bernard  hold 
the  beast,  and  Renaud  rose. 

He  walked  across  the  arena,  and  when  he  came  to 
where  Livette  sat,  beckoned  to  her.  Everybody  under- 
stood and  applauded. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  257 

She  walked  forward  to  the  edge  of  the  platform  on 
which  the  benches  were  built,  and  lightly  placed  her 
foot  on  the  strong  cross-bar  that  served  as  a  support  to 
the  spectators  in  the  front  row ;  from  there  she  jumped 
confidently  into  Renaud's  arms,  who  caught  her  about 
the  waist  and  set  her  down  as  if  she  had  been  a  little 
child. 

He  took  her  hand  and  led  her  toward  the  bull. 

If  Renaud  had  looked  at  Zinzara  at  that  moment,  he 
would  have  surprised  in  her  eyes  a  gleam  which  she  did 
her  best  to  hide  behind  her  half-closed  lids.  The  smile 
vanished  from  her  mocking  lips. 

But  Livette  and  Renaud,  the  pair  of  comely  lovers, 
were  thinking  of  naught  but  the  fete,  of  themselves,  of 
this  strange  betrothal  at  which  all  their  people  were 
present,  and  the  like  of  which  not  even  princes  could 
give,  for  it  required  rare  strength  and  address  on  the 
part  of  the  fiance.  It  was,  in  very  truth,  the  triumph 
of  a  manly  king. 

"  Bravo,  king  !  bravo,  queen  !  " 

As  they  passed  the  brazier  in  the  centre  of  the  arena,  he 
stooped  quickly,  and  seized  with  his  free  hand — without 
stopping  or  releasing  Livette's  hand — the  red-hot  iron, 
which  he  handed  to  her  as  soon  as  they  were  beside  the 
bull.  She  took  it,  and,  leaning  forward,  branded  the  bull 
on  the  shoulder,  and  when  they  saw  the  flesh  smoking 
under  the  iron  she  held  in  her  strong  little  hand,  when 
the  bull  began  to  quiver  with  wrath,  the  enthusiasm  of 


258  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

the  people  burst  forth.  Hats  and  hands  and  scarfs  were 
waved  in  the  air. 

"  Bravo,  king  !  bravo,  queen  !  " 

And  Renaud,  envied  by  all,  escorted  the  maiden  back 
to  her  place,  while  the  bull,  set  free,  rushed  from  the 
arena  in  his  turn  and  out  upon  the  plain.  No,  Zinzara 
no  longer  laughed. 

The  game  of  the  "cockades"  was  next  on  the  pro- 
gramme. 

The  first  two  or  three  were  easily  carried  off — one 
from  the  head  of  Angel  Pastor  himself,  the  Spanish 
bull — by  the  young  men  of  Saintes-Maries,  and  it  had 
not  occurred  to  Renaud  to  take  part  in  the  sport. 

At  last,  Serpentine,  a  nervous  little  heifer,  was  let 
loose  in  the  arena.  Every  one  realized  instantly  that  she 
was  in  a  bad  temper  and  would  defend  herself. 

Several  tried  their  fortune  against  her,  but,  just  as 
they  put  out  their  hand  to  the  cockade,  Serpentine 
would  turn  about  so  quickly,  and  with  such  agility  for 
a  heifer,  that  they  fled.  Ah  !  the  hussy  !  Zinzara  sud- 
denly became  interested  in  the  game.  Renaud  had 
gone  down  into  the  arena. 

"The  king!  the  king!  bravo!  king!"  shouted  the 
crowd. 

And  Renaud  performed  prodigies  of  skill. 

Three  times  he  placed  his  foot  upon  Serpentine's  low- 
ered head,  and  allowed  himself  to  be  hurled  into  space, 
to  fall  again  upon  his  elastic  legs.     And  as  soon  as  he 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  259 

reached  the  ground  the  third  time,  he  turned  like  a 
flash,  ran  straight  to  the  heifer,  snatched  away  the 
cockade, — avoiding  the  blow  she  aimed  at  him  with  her 
horns  in  her  rage, — and  was  calmly  walking  away,  when 
the  agile  creature  returned  to  the  charge. 

Renaud  ran,  as  chance  guided  him,  closely  pursued 
by  the  beast,  and  when  he  had  leaped  upon  the  nearest 
wagon,  he  found  himself  beside  the  gipsy,  whom  he 
had  instinctively  seized  around  the  waist. 

The  heifer  had  already  turned  her  attention  to  some 
of  the  other  contestants,  and  very  fortunately,  too, — - 
for  the  gipsy,  who  was  standing  on  the  edge  of  her 
wagon,  leaning  against  the  insecure  boarding,  lost  her 
balance,  and  leaped  down,  perforce,  into  the  arena, 
carrying  Renaud  with  her. 

Livette  turned  pale  as  death. 

The  heifer  came  galloping  back  at  full  speed  toward 
Renaud  and  Zinzara,  the  latter  of  whom,  being  entan- 
gled in  the  folds  of  her  ragged  finery,  thought  that  she 
was  lost. — Boldly  she  turned  and  faced  the  danger,  too 
proud  to  fly,  at  least  when  to  fly  would  be  useless.  But 
Renaud  had  already  stepped  in  front  of  her  to  protect 
her,  and,  seized  with  some  insane  idea  or  other, — the 
bravado  of  a  horse-breaker,  or  of  a  lover,  if  you 
choose, — instead  of  entering  into  a  contest  with  the 
heifer,  instead  of  seizing  her  by  the  horns  or  the  legs, 
stopped,  and,  without  taking  his  eyes  from  the  beast's 
face,   quickly  knelt  upon  one  knee,  squatted  upon  his 


26o  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

heel,  folded  his  arms,  and,  with  his  head  thrown  back, 
defied  her.  Like  an  experienced  "  trapper,"  he  counted 
upon  the  beast's  astonishment,  and  she  did,  in  fact,  stop 
short,  and  scrutinize  him  suspiciously.  The  gipsy,  her 
lips  pressed  tightly  together,  having  regained  her  place 
upon  the  wagon,  looked  back  and  saw  her  protector 
still  in  that  singularly  foolhardy  attitude.  As  may  be 
imagined,  everybody  was  shouting:  "Vive  Renaud  !  " 
It  seemed  as  if  they  would  never  weary  of  it. 

When  he  rose,  he  was  again  charged  by  Serpentine, 
and  had  barely  time  to  regain  his  place  of  refuge  beside 
the  gitana;  and  the  furious  beast  attacked  the  flooring 
.  of  the  wagon  just  at  their  feet  with  such  a  fierce  blow  of 
her  powerfully  armed  head,  that  it  was  caught  there  for 
a  moment  by  the  horns,  so  that  Renaud  had  to  force 
them  out  by  stamping  upon  them  with  the  heel  of  his 
iron-shod  boot. 

Then  the  gipsy  smiled,  and,  bending  over  toward  the 
drover's  ear,  whispered  a  word  or  two  that  made 
the  handsome  horse-breaker  smile  with  her. 

Livette — who  was  a  long  distance  away,  at  the  other 
end  of  the  arena,  but  almost"  opposite  them,  and  so 
placed  that  she  could  see  them  in  the  bright  light — had 
not  lost  a  single  gesture,  not  a  single  glance. 

What  jealousy  does  not  see,  it  divines,  and  that  is  not 
surprising,  for  it  sees  what  does  not  exist. 


XX 


THE   SNARE 

The  relics  were  exposed  twenty-four  hours  in  the 
church. 

The  second  day,  they  reascended  to  their  chapel,  amid 
the  howling  of  the  same  poor  wretches  whose  hopes  they 
carried  with  them. 

At  the  moment  when  the  relics  take  their  departure, 
the  spectacle  becomes  terrifying.  What !  all  is  over ! 
what !  they  leave  us  in  our  misery,  our  woes  sharpened 
by  the  disappointment !  And  it  is  all  over  !  over,  for 
a  whole  year !  And  yet  the  power  that  can  heal  is 
here,  shut  up  in  this  box,  so  near  us  !  among  us  !  They 
rush  at  the  shrines  and  cling  to  them  ! — Nails  are  broken 
and  bleeding  against  the  iron-bound  corners  ! — And  the 
inexorable  capstan  up  above  turns  and  turns,  tearing 
from  the  writhing  crowd  at  the  bottom  of  the  well  the 
strange  coffin,  that  goes  up,  up,  at  the  end  of  the  strain- 
ing ropes.  Standing  on  tiptoe,  jostling,  overturning, 
crushing    one    another   without    pity,    the    poor   devils 

struggle  for  the  last  touch — the  last,  supreme  touch  that 

261 


262  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

may,  perhaps,  because  it  is  the  last,  secure  the  coveted 
grace. — And  all  in  vain.  Amid  the  sobbing  prayers, 
the  mysterious  closed  vessel  goes  up  toward  the  lofty 
chapel,  carrying  the  water  of  salvation  of  which  so 
many  feverish  lips  long  to  drink.  And  when  the  shrines 
pass  out  of  sight,  near  the  arch,  behind  the  lowered  shut- 
ters,— then  veritable  shrieks  of  agony  go  up  from  the 
frenzied  crowd  who  cannot  endure  the  death  of  hope. 

Then  the  uproar  becomes  truly  frightful ;  then  selfish- 
ness breaks  forth  unbridled,  each  one  uttering  for  his 
own  behoof  the  bestial  cry  that  should  bring  down  on 
him  alone  the  saints'  compassion  ;  then  the  lamentation 
is  wild,  the  supplication  horrible  to  hear,  the  prayers  are 
prayers  of  rage  !  And  in  this  deep  moat,  whose  walls 
tremble  with  the  noise,  there  is  a  great  uproar  as  of 
unclean  beasts,  thirsting  for  tlieir  God  as  for  a  physical 
blessing,  as  for  a  vainly  awaited  promised  land  !  And, 
nailed  against  one  of  the  bare  walls  of  the  fortress- 
church,  a  great  crucifix,  with  open  arms  and  upturned 
face,  above  all  those  distorted  faces,  all  those  raised  and 
writhing  arms,  seems  to  mingle  with  the  fierce  lamenta- 
tions of  the  human  brutes  its  divine  but  no  less  fruitless 
and  much  more  despairing  cry  ! 

And  yet,  it  is  almost  always  at  the  last  moment,  at 
the  precise  second  when  the  shrines  disappear,  that  the 
miracle  takes  place,  and  a  paralytic  walks  or  a  blind 
girl  sees.     One  cries  out:  "Miracle!  " 

Lucky  girl !     She  is  surrounded,  almost  suffocated. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  263 

*' Can  you  see?" — "I  did  see." — "Can  you  see 
now?"— "Wait— yes!  "—"What?"— "A  bright  red 
lily  !  a  flash  !  an  angel  !  " — "  Miracle  !  miracle  !  " 

A  man,  a  villager,  immediately  takes  the  child  in  his 
arms.  Ah  !  he  has  seen  miracles  before  !  See  how  he 
hurries  to  take  the  child  away  on  his  shoulders,  on  the 
shield  !  He  carries  her  thus  so  that  all  may  see  the 
miraculously-cured ;  so  that  no  one  shall  forget  that 
genuine  miracles  are  done  at  Saintes-Maries,  and  come 
again  !  And  the  crowd  follows,  giving  thanks.  They 
hurry  to  the  parsonage  ;  the  miracle  is  recorded  in  the 
presence  of  several  assembled  priests. 

"Did  you  see?"— "Yes,  I  saw  !  " 

And  the  procession  moves  on. 

Ah  !  Christophore,  the  old  pirate  ! — How  he  hurries 
along,  with  his  lie  on  his  shoulders  ! — He  is  a  poor  in- 
habitant of  Saintes-Maries  to  whom  the  presence  of  so 
many  strangers  every  year  brings  in  something,  as  it 
does  to  all  the  rest,  and  he  trots  joyously  off  with  his 
living  decoy. 

The  next  day,  the  child  of  the  miracle  is  found  alone 
at  the  foot  of  the  Calvary,  on  the  beach,  left  there  for  a 
moment  by  the  woman  or  child  who  acts  as  her  guide. 

"Well,  can  you  see?  "—"No."— "  What  about  the 
miracle,  then?" 

Poor  child !  In  her  plaintive  voice,  she  replies : 
*' It  has  gone  again!" — "But  you  did  see,  yester- 
day?"— "Yes." — "If  you   could  see,  why  did   they 


2^4  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

carry  you?" — "  Oh!  monsieur,  I  couldn't  see  anything 
but  flowers,  bright  red  hlies ;  but  as  to  walking— oh  ! 
no,  I  couldn't  see  to  do  that !  And  now  it  is  all  dark. 
I  can't  see  anything  at  all  any  more ;  yes,  the  miracle — 

has  gone  away  !  " 

As  soon  as  the  relics  had  disappeared,  everybody  left 
the  church  in  procession,  to  go  to  bless  the  sea — the 
sea  that  bore  the  saints  to  Camargue — the  sea  whereon 
the  brave  fishermen  risk  their  lives  every  day. 

The  cure  walked  at  the  head  of  the  procession.  He 
held  a  relic  in  his  hand ;  it  was  the  Silver  Arm,  a  hollow 
object  in  which  some  relics  of  the  saints  can  be  seen 
through  a  little  square  of  glass. 

The  crowd  followed  in  order.  There  were  hundreds, 
yes,  thousands  of  them.  Great  numbers  of  pilgrims, 
sitting  on  the  dunes,  watched  the  procession  winding  its 
way  along  the  sandy  beach  where  a  few  flat-boats  lay 
high  and  dry. 

Behind  Monsieur  le  cure,  six  men  bore  on  their  shoul- 
ders a  carved  and  painted  wooden  image,  of  consider- 
able size,  representing  the  two  saints  in  the  boat.  There 
was  so  much  jostling,  by  so  many  of  the  crowd,  to  secure 
the  honor  of  replacing  the  bearers,  that  the  boat  pitched 
and  rolled  on  their  shoulders  as  if  it  were  at  sea  in  a 
high  wind. 

Saint  Sara,  the  black  saint,  came  next,  borne  by  dark- 
haired,  swarthy-faced  gipsies,  with  eyes  that  glistened 
like  jet.     Their  little  ones  meanwhile  glided  through 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  265 

the  crowd  like  rats,  creeping  between  people's  legs  and 
stealing  handkerchiefs  and  purses. 

And  in  the  wake  of  the  saints  came  young  men  and 
maidens,  carrying  lilies,  sweet-smelling  lilies,  collected 
in  sheaves  every  year  for  the  procession  of  the  faithful. 

Others  held  tapers  whose  light  could  not  be  detected 
in  the  bright  sunlight,  but  the  lilies  filled  the  air  with 
perfume.     These  lilies  were  Livette's  delight. 

Monsieur  le  cure  reached  the  water's  edge.  He  held 
out  the  Silver  Arm.  Thereupon,  the  sea,  for  an  instant, 
recoiled  —  only  a  litde.  The  poor  fishermen's  wives 
quickly  crossed  themselves. 

And  all  those  who  were  standing  on  the  dunes,  watch- 
ing the  procession  pass,  saw  the  bearers  marching  at 
the  head  loom  taller  and  taller  at  every  step  by 
reason  of  the  mirage.  And  the  saints  on  the  bearers' 
shoulders  gradually  increased  in  size  with  them,  and 
seemed  to  rise  heavenward,  of  prodigious  size,  as  in  a 
vision. 

"Protect  us,  great  saints!  May  the  sea  be  kind  to 
us  of  Saintes-Maries  this  year!  " 

Poor  people,  poor  souls  !     Wait  till  next  year. 

Every  year  it  is  the  same  thing.  All  this  returns  and 
will  return,  like  the  seasons. 

On  the  day  following  that  on  which  the  relics  returned 
to  their  retreat,  the  majority  of  the  pilgrims  left  the 
village.  All  the  camps  were  struck  at  almost  the  same 
hour. 


266  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

The  carriages  of  all  sorts,  the  cabriolets,  dog-carts, 
chars-d-batics,  jardinieres,  break-necks,  the  rich  farmers' 
breaks,  and  the  peasants'  wagons,  covered  with  canvas 
stretched  over  hoops,  carried  away  seven,  eight,  ten 
thousand  travellers  of  all  ages,  sick  or  well,  and  the 
long  line  crawled  like  a  serpent  over  the  flat  road  be- 
tween two  deserts.  Here  and  there,  at  the  left  of  the 
line,  mounted  men,  many  of  whom  carried  a  girl  en 
croupe,  rode  back  and  forth,  looking  for  one  another, 
now  waiting,  now  riding  on  at  a  gallop  to  take  the 
lead  of  the  caravan. 

This  departure  of  the  pilgrims  was  another  spectacle 
for  the  good  people  of  Saintes- Maries,  who  stood  around 
in  noisy  groups  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  waving 
a  last  adieu  to  the  guests  whose  presence  they  had  taken 
advantage  of  to  the  utmost. 

Those  who  had  been  compelled  to  give  shelter  to 
friends  and  had  consequently  been  unable  to  put  so  high 
a  price  on  their  hospitality,  good-humoredly  repeated 
the  amusing  sentiment,  that  certainly  smacks  less  of 
Arabia  than  do  the  horses  of  the  district :  Friends  who 
come  to  visit  us  always  afford  us  pleasure  ;  if  not  when 
they  arrive,  at  all  events  when  they  depart. 

On  the  second  day  following  that  on  which  the  gipsy 
had  smiled  upon  the  drover,  when  the  party  of  zingari 
passed  in  their  place  at  the  tail  of  the  procession,  some 
mounted  on  sorry  nags,  others  jolting  about  in  their 
wretched  wagons, — some  of  the   women    on   foot,  the 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  267 

better  to  beg,  carrying  their  children  slung  bandoleer- 
wise  over  their  backs, — it  was  observed  that  the  queen's 
wagon  was  not  among  them. 

Zinzara  had  remained  at  Saintes-Maries. 

She  proposed  to  give  herself  the  pleasure  of  adminis- 
tering a  rebuff  to  the  drover,  with  whom  she  had  made 
an  assignation  for  that  very  evening. 

This  is  what  had  taken  place. 

During  the  branding,  Renaud  had  whispered  in  Zin- 
zara's  ear : 

"Ah  !  now  I  have  you,  gipsy !  what  a  pity  that  it  is 
before  all  these  people!  " 

**  On  my  word,  I  have  the  same  thought  at  this 
moment,^''  she  replied,  deeply  touched  by  the  grand 
presence  of  mind  he  had  just  shown  in  defending 
her. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  "I'll  come  and  speak  to  you 
very  soon.     These  are  lovely  nights. " 

"No,  to-morrow,"  said  she,  "to-morrow,  do  you 
understand?  after  the  wagons  have  gone." 

But  at  the  close  of  the  performance,  when  he  saw 
Livette  coming  toward  him  with  pale  cheeks,  so  pale 
that  she  looked  like  a  corpse,  he  was  seized  with  poi- 
gnant remorse. 

"She  saw  me,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and  she  is 
suffering  from  jealousy." 

And  so  great  was  his  pity  for  the  poor  little  girl  that 
he  felt  capable  of  sacrificing  to  her,  once  for  all,  at  the 


268  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

very  moment  when  it  had  become  more  difficult  than 
ever,  his  insane  passion  for  the  other.  All  the  chaste 
affection  he  had  felt  for  Livette  from  the  very  first,  so 
different  from  passion  and  so  pleasant  to  the  senses, 
came  back  to  him  like  the  puff  of  fresh  air  that  awakens 
one  from  a  bad  dream. 

Furthermore,  he  was  surprised,  almost  disconcerted, 
to  find  that  the  gipsy's  formal  promise  did  not  afford 
him  the  pleasure  he  had  expected  when  he  had  dreamed 
of  it  in  anticipation. 

Livette  left  him  to  join  her  father,  who  was  not  to 
take  her  back  to  the  chateau  until  the  evening  of  the 
following  day,  two  or  three  hours  after  the  departure 
of  the  pilgrims,  in  order  to  remain  until  the  end  of 
the  fete,  and  to  avoid  the  thick  dust  and  the  enforced 
slowness  of  the  long  procession. 

And  that  day — in  the  afternoon — Renaud  fell  in  with 
Monsieur  le  cure. 

"Good-day,  drover.  What  is  the  matter,  my  boy? 
You  seem  preoccupied." 

"Oh!  cure,"  said  Renaud,  "sometimes  it  is  difficult 
to  do  what  is  right !  " 

With  that  he  was  about  to  pass  on,  but  the  cure  seized 
his  arm  and  detained  him. 

"Eh!  cure,"  said  Renaud,  "you  have  still  a  power- 
ful grasp ! ' ' 

"Beware,  Renaud,"  said  the  cure  very  slowly,  "lest 
you  become  a   great   sinner.     I   know   what  I   know. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  269 

Your  betrothed  wife  is  weeping.  She  is  jealous.  Al- 
ready rumors  are  in  circulation  concerning  you.  And 
for  whom,  just  God !  would  you  betray  that  virtuous 
girl,  who,  wealthy  as  she  is,  gives  herself  to  you,  a 
poor  orphan  ?  You  would  ruin  a  whole  family,  poor 
you !  and  your  honor  and  the  repose  of  your  heart, 
forever !  The  devil  is  crafty,  you  are  right,  and  to 
do  right  is  difficult,  but  those  whom  the  devil  inspires, 
when  you  follow  their  momentary  caprice  and  your  own 
fancy,  lead  you  on  to  abysses  deeper  than  the  lorons 
of  the  paluns.  You  are  walking  at  this  moment  on 
the  moving  crust !  If  it  bursts,  adieu,  my  man !  You 
will  be  engulfed  body  and  soul.  As  for  yourself,  that  is 
a  small  matter  !  but  by  what  right  do  you  compel  the 
little  one  to  run  the  risk  of  your  downfall?  You  are 
dealing  with  an  accursed  creature,  a  woman  who  does 
not  know  herself,  who  is  submissive  to  nobody,  and  who 
cares  nothing  for  the  misfortunes  of  others.  Whatever 
she  does  is  for  her  own  amusement.  I  have  seen  her 
and  watched  her.  The  saints  have  taught  me  many 
things.  Beware  !  The  little  one  is  brave.  Some  day 
there  may  be  innocent  blood  on  your  hands,  if  you 
keep  on  in  the  road  I  forbid  you  to  follow,  for  the 
devil  is  in  the  affair,  I  tell  you,  and  all  sorts  of  monsters 
are  awaiting  you  at  the  turning  in  the  evil'  road.  A 
betrothed  lover's  infidelity,  like  a  husband's,  lays  an 
egg  filled  with  ghastly  creatures,  which  sometimes 
hatches.     If  you  have  a  heart,  show  it,  Renaud,  take 


2yo  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

my  advice,  and  go  back  to  your  horses  and  cattle  in  the 
solitude  of  your  plains,  where  the  malignant  fever  is 
less  to  be  feared  than  the  disease  you  are  taking  here ! " 

Renaud,  the  tall,  strong,  dashing  blade,  listened  to 
these  wise  words,  hanging  his  head,  poor  fellow,  like  a 
child  scolded  for  not  knowing  his  catechism. 

"If  you  are  a  man,  make  up  your  mind  at  once,  and 
give  me  your  word  as  a  true-hearted  drover." 

"Take  my  hand,  Monsieur  le  cure.  I  give  you  my 
word.     I  was  in  a  fair  way  to  go  wrong.     A  spell  was 


on  me." 


The  two  men  exchanged  a  grasp  of  the  hand. 

The  cure  walked  away  with  an  anxious  heart.  He 
knew  that  Renaud  was  sincere,  but  he  knew  the  strength 
of  man's  passion  and  his  ingenuity  in  lying. 

So  the  cure  had  been  asking  questions? — In  that  case, 
to  consort  with  the  gipsy  was  to  risk  a  rupture  with 
Livette. 

Renaud  was  about  to  leave  the  village, — or,  if  you 
please,  the  town, — with  his  mind  firmly  made  up  to 
renounce  the  gitana.  Yes,  he  would  sacrifice  her  to 
Livette,  to  his  earnest  desire  to  have  a  peaceful,  happy 
home  and  a  family,  he,  the  wandering  cowherd,  the 
orphan,  the  foundling  of  the  desert.  That  was  happi- 
ness;— a  roof  to  shelter  one,  a  roof  whose  smoke  one 
can  see  from  afar  on  the  horizon,  thinking :  the  wife  and 
little  ones  are  there. 

He  would  renounce  the  gitana ;  yes,  but  he  proposed 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  271 

to  make  known  his  resolution  to  her  himself.  At  the 
thought  of  leaving  Saintes- Maries  without  seeing  her 
again,  for  the  purpose  of  telling  her  that  he  would  not 
see  her  again,  a  weary  feeling  came  over  him  ;  it  seemed 
to  him  that  he  was  suddenly  shut  up  in  a  narrow  space, 
and  left  there  without  air,  without  horizon. — But  he 
would  see  her  again — he  must.  It  would  be  better  so. 
Must  he  not  soothe  her  anger  first  of  all  ?  She  would 
be  angry  enough  in  any  event.  Why  exasperate  her? — 
In  very  truth,  if  he  did  see  her  again,  it  was — he  reached 
this  conclusion  after  much  thought — it  was  principally 
in  order  to  protect  poor  Livette  against  her  !  Yes,  yes, 
it  was  for  her  sake  that  he  would  see  her  again.  See 
her  again  !  At  those  words,  which  he  repeated  softly 
to  himself,  a  joy  in  living,  in  moving,  in  breathing,  took 
possession  of  him. 

Meanwhile,  Zinzara,  for  her  part,  was  vowing  in- 
wardly that  she  would  enjoy  a  hearty  laugh  at  the 
drover  when  he  should  presently  seek  her  out! 

Why,  in  that  case,  had  she  answered  yes  to  his  amo- 
rous questions  ?  Oh !  because  at  the  moment  when  he 
whispered  them  in  her  ear,  if  she  had  been  able,  upon 
the  spot,  to  give  herself  to  this  savage,  all  aglow  from 
his  conflict  with  bulls  and  heifers,  doubtless  she  would 
have  done  it.  He  had  awakened  desire  in  her,  as  heat 
awakens  thirst,  as  a  summer  evening  awakens  longing 
for  a  bath. — And  then  it  had  given  her  pleasure  to  say 
to  herself  that,  over  at  the  other  end  of  the  arena,  the 


2  72  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

woman  to  whom  he  had  paid  queenly  honor  by  giving 
her  the  smoking,  red-hot  iron,  like  the  sceptre  of  a 
magician  or  a  wicked  zingaro  king, — that  that  woman 
was  suffering  torments. 

But  he  came  too  late.  The  desire  had  passed  away. 
And  the  acme  of  delight  to  her  now  lay  in  the  thought 
of  refusing  the  promised  favor  to  the  Christian  she 
detested,  while  giving  Livette  to  believe  that  he  had 
been  false  to  her. 

Sitting  upon  a  stone,  alone,  at  some  distance  from  her 
wagon,  she  awaited  the  drover.  Her  resolution  to  take 
vengeance  by  refusing  was  written  upon  her  compressed 
lips,  whose  smile  became  more  malicious  than  ever  when 
she  saw  him  riding  toward  her. 

A  few  steps  away  he  stopped.  As  he  looked  at  her, 
he  felt  a  sudden  rushing  of  the  blood  in  all  his  veins, 
a  strange,  delicious  pressure  at  the  pit  of  the  stomach. 
He  recognized  the  characteristic  agitation  of  love ;  but 
he  made  an  effort,  and  said,  in  a  voice  which  he  felt 
to  be  unsteady:  "I  expected  to  be  free  to-night,  but 
I  am  not.  The  master  has  sent  for  me,  and  I  must  be 
far  away  from  here  by  night-fall.  So  I  must  go  at  once. 
Adieu,  gipsy! " 

Zinzara  understood  instantly  that  he  was  running  away 

from  her,  and  why  ! She  rose,  like  the  serpent  that 

rises  on  its  tail  and  hisses  with  anger.  All  her  harsh 
resolutions  vanished  in  a  twinkling;  and,  in  a  short, 
sharp,  jerky  voice,   entirely  different   from  her  natural 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  273 

voice,  she  said:  "I  want  you,  do  you  hear?  No  one 
else  shall  give  you  orders  when  I  have  orders  for  you. 
What  I  want  done  is  done.  Are  you  going  to  act  like 
a  coward,  pray — you,  who  have  taken  my  fancy  because, 
when  you  are  on  your  horse,  you  resemble  a  zingaro 
who  knows  neither  master  nor  God  ?     Come,  go  on  !  " 

Thus,  the  same  motive  of  passionate  hatred, — as 
pleasant  to  her  taste  as  love, — that  a  moment  before 
induced  her  determination  not  to  go  with  Renaud,  now 
threw  her  into  his  arms.  And  to  him  the  love  or  hatred 
of  such  a  woman,  at  the  moment  when  she  gave  herself 
to  him,  was  one  and  the  same  thing;  were  there  not 
still  her  passion,  her  animated  features,  her  gleaming 
eyes,  her  lips  that,  as  they  moved,  disclosed  two  rows 
of  pearly,  sparkling  teeth  ?  Was  there  not  her  flexible, 
ballet-dancer's  body,  significantly  held  out  toward  him 
to  whom  she  laid  claim? 

A  thrill  of  savage  joy  shook  Renaud  from  head  to 
foot ;  and,  as  his  rider  shuddered,  as  if  he  had  been 
touched  by  a  cramp-fish,  the  horse  seemed  to  experience 
a  similar  sensation,  and  pawed  the  ground  an  instant, 
between  the  knees  that  involuntarily  pressed  closer  to 
his  sides. 

What  was  he  to  do  ?  Ah  !  blessed  saints !  His  be- 
trothal had  kept  him  virtuous  for  a  long  while,  you 
know ;  had  held  him  aloof  from  the  frail  damsels  with 
whom  he  formerly  consorted,  and  his  youth  was  speaking 
now.     The  sea-bull  must  have  the  wild  heifer.     Lions 


274  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

that  have  loved  gazelles,  so  says  the  Arabian  legend, 
have  died  of  it.  Living  creatures,  by  the  law  of  nature, 
crave  paroxysms  of  passion ;  so  long  as  they  have  them 
not,  they  seek  them  ;  and  pay  for  them,  if  need  be,  with 
their  own  and  others'  blood.  Who  of  us  will  blame 
them  for  becoming  delirious  sometimes,  if  we  remember 
that  life  longs  to  live,  and  that  that  longing  overshadows 
the  fear  of  death  ? 

"Come,  go  on  !  " 

The  queen  uttered  love's  command.  And  with  one 
bound  she  jumped  to  the  saddle  behind  him.  In  a 
twinkling  she  had  wound  her  right  arm  about  the  horse- 
man's waist:  "Go  on!  "  she  said  again;  and  then,  in 
an  undertone,  in  a  voice  that  was  no  more  than  a  warm, 
speaking  breath  ujion  the  man's  neck,  and  made  him 
shudder  to  the  very  roots  of  his  hair,  she  added:  "I 
want  you,  do  you  understand  ?  I  want  you  !  So  go  on, 
go  on  !     The  man  who  goes  on,  arrives  ! ' ' 

He  was  caught,  fast  bound.  The  sorceress's  arm  was 
about  his  loins.  He  felt  it  against  him,  living,  trem- 
bling, stronger  than  aught  else. 

The  stupefied  Renaud  tried  to  regain  his  self-control, — 
to  shake  off  the  spell.  He  sat  there,  dazed,  unable  to  dis- 
entangle his  thoughts,  to  determine  what  he  should  do, 
trying  to  collect  his  ideas  of  a  moment  before,  the  good 
cure's  advice,  his  word  of  honor,  none  of  which  could 
he  remember  or  repeat  to  himself  in  his  mind,  intelli- 
gibly.    It  had  all  gone  from  him,  out  of  reach  of  the 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  275 

effort  of  his  memory.  When  an  intense  amorous  passion 
guides  our  movements,  it  is  as  legitimate  as  physical 
force, — honor  is  not  betrayed :   it  has  ceased  to  exist  ! 

Those  few  seconds  of  hesitation  afforded  Zinzara 
perfect  comprehension  of  what  was  taking  place  within 
him.  His  desire  was  no  longer  ardent  enough  to  satisfy 
her  pride,  since  it  was  possible  for  him  to  waver  ever  so 
little ! 

''Where  are  we  going?  "  said  she,  resuming  her  sharp, 
jerky  tone,  in  which  there  was  a  suspicion  of  a  hiss. 
"Where  are  we  going?  You  must  know  of  a  hiding- 
place  somewhere,  some  deserted  cabin  in  the  midst  of 
your  swamps  here, — a  perfectly  safe  place,  all  your  own, 
where  you  have  taken  other  women — what  do  I  care  ? 
Pardi !  1  don't  suppose  that  you  waited  for  me,  to 
learn  /  I  will  go  wherever  you  take  me.  Remember 
this — it  must  be  somewhere  where  nobody  can  find  me, 
for  my  race  doesn't  mix  with  yours:  the  zingara  who 
gives  herself  to  a  Christian  is  the  only  despised  one 
among  us,  and  if  one  of  our  people  should  see  me,  there 
would  be  knives  in  the  air,  you  may  be  sure,  for  you  and 
for  me  !  " 

He  still  hesitated,  remembering  that  he  had  reasons 
for  hesitation,  but  unable  to  remember  what  they  were. 
Mechanically  he  held  back  his  horse  (it  was  Blanchet!), 
who  was  acting  badly. 

At  last,  in  the  hurly-burly  of  his  thoughts,  he  seized, 
at  random,  upon  one  thing  he  had  entirely  forgotten, 


276  KING  OF  CAMAROUE 

the  tapers  promised  by  Livette  to  the  Saintes  Maries.  He 
was  to  have  lighted  them  devoutly  in  the  church,  during 
the  night  before  or  that  morning.  Yesterday  his  fiancee 
had  reminded  him  again  of  the  promise.  Doubtless, 
Livette  had  lighted  them  for  him,  but  that  was  not  the 
same  thing.  And  so  the  devil  had  him,  do  what  he  would. 
He  lost  his  head.  He  felt  that  he  was  sliding  down  an 
inclined  plane,  and  finding  his  struggles  of  no  avail,  he 
abandoned  himself  to  his  fate  and  hastened  his  fall. 

"I  know  where  we  will  go,"  he  said;  "to  the  Con- 
script's Hut,  in  the  swamp." 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  forced  to  reply,  but  he  no 
longer  felt  any  internal  revolt  against  that  obligation — 
far  otherwise. 

''Is  it  far?" 

"Yes,  in  Crau,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Rhone,  near  the 
Icard  farm.  The  devil  couldn't  find  me  there.  Rampal 
might  come  there,  no  one  else ' ' 

"Wait,"  said  she  at  that  name,  with  a  sudden  gleam 
in  her  cat-like  eyes. 

She  whistled. 

He  said  to  himself  that  some  one  from  Saintes-Maries 
would  certainly  see  them,  and  that  Livette  would  learn 
the  whole  story — that  it  would  be  better  now  to  start  at 
once. — Or  perhaps — who  knows? — the  delay  was  a  good 
thing !  Livette  might  pass,  herself,  and  all  would  be 
changed.  He  would  hasten  to  her  side.  They  would 
be  saved.     Who  would  be  saved  ?  and  from  what  ?  from 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  277 

a  vague,  terrible  thing  that  was  before  him.  He  could 
not  have  told  what  it  was  ;  but  it  was  simply  the  re- 
nunciation of  his  own  will. 

The  gitana's  clear,  shrill  whistle  summoned  a  little 
zingaro  of  some  ten  years,  a  veritable  wild  cat,  who 
came  running  to  the  horse's  side. 

From  the  saddle  she  said  a  few  words  in  the  gipsy 
language  to  him,  in  a  short,  imperative  tone  of  com- 
mand. The  gipsy  language  is  composed  of  German, 
Coptic,  Egyptian,  and  Sanscrit.  Renaud  listened  with- 
out the  slightest  suspicion  of  the  meaning  of  the  words. 

In  a  fit  of  amorous  hatred,  the  swarthy  queen  said  to 
the  little  fellow : 

"You  know  Rampal,  the  drover?  go  and  find  him. 
He  is  in  the  village ;  I  saw  him  not  long  ago.  Go  at 
once  and  tell  him  this :  he  will  find  me  to-night,  with 
his  enemy,  whom  you  see  here,  in  the  Conscript's  Hut, 
which  he  knows  !  And  I  will  join  you  and  the  wagon 
to-morrow  evening,  in  the  town  of  Aries,  by  the  old 
tombs." 

She  thought  of  everything.    The  wild  cat  disappeared. 

"  What  did  you  say  to  him  ?  "  Renaud  inquired. 

She  began  to  laugh,  an  insolent  laugh. 

He  felt  that  he  abhorred  her,  that  he  would  delight 
to  see  her  conquered,  under  his  heel,  absolutely  in  his 
power,  gipsy  queen  and  sorceress  that  she  was,  like  an 
ordinary  woman. 

Each  desired  the  other  in  hatred. 


27S  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

She  laughed  as  she  thought  that  the  man  about  whom 
her  arms  were  thrown  hke  a  lover  she  was  luring  to  his 
destruction.  That  very  night — before  or  after  the  joys 
of  love;  what  cared  she  for  that? — there  would  be  be- 
tween him  and  that  other  a  struggle  as  of  wild  beasts, 
which  she  longed  to  see ;  a  witches'  carnival  of  love,  to 
rejoice  the  souls  of  the  dead ;  and  she  laughed. 

''Queens,"  said  she,  "cannot  leave  their  kingdoms 
without  issuing  secret  orders.     Come,  my  beast!  " 

Was  she  speaking  to  the  man  or  the  horse? — To  the 
man,  doubtless,  in  whom  she  had  awakened  an  animal 
like  herself 

She  pressed  him  tighter,  and  again  she  whispered : 

"  Come,  come  !  " 

He  felt  the  vampire's  breath  playing  in  the  short  hair 
on  his  neck  and  descending  in  hot  flushes  to  his  feet, 
which  were  nervously  tapping  his  horse's  flanks.  Re- 
naud  trembled.  His  passion  had  taken  possession  of 
him  once  more  in  all  its  intensity.  It  seemed  as  if  a 
hurricane  were  raging  in  man  and  horse  alike.  They 
started  off  at  full  speed. 

Renaud  believed  that  he  had  a  victim  in  his  grasp, 
but  he  was  himself  the  victim,  and  he  rode  away  with 
the  witch  clinging  fast  to  him — as  the  kite  sometimes 
flies  away  with  the  serpent,  thinking  that  he  has  mastered 
it,  only  to  be  strangled  in  its  folds  at  last. 


XX] 

HERODIAS 

They  galloped  across  the  plain.  At  every  step,  Renaiid 
felt  the  gentle  pressure  of  the  woman's  arm.  Zinzara 
and  Renaud  galloped  away  upon  Livette's  horse  ! 

Of  what  was  the  drover  thinking?  Was  she  girl  or 
woman?  His  pride  made  him  persist,  in  spite  of  him- 
self, in  wishing  that  she  might  be  the  former,  although 
it  seemed  hardly  probable,  heathen  females  mature  so 
early ! 

A  breath  of  air  blew  in  their  faces.  It  brought  to 
their  nostrils  the  pungent  smell  of  tamarisk  blossoms. 
He  slackened  his  horse's  pace. 

"  Go  on,  go  on  !  "  said  she,  "press  on  !  We  will  talk 
later — by  ourselves,  romi,  where  nobody  can  see  us." 

The  horse  darted  forward  afresh. 

Renaud  was  conscious  of  a  vague  yet  overmastering 

feeling  of  pride  in  being  there,  in  trampling  the  grass 

of  the  plain  with  four  feet,  in  knowing  no  obstacles,  in 

having  that  woman  close  beside  him — and,  over  yonder, 

another  ! 

279 


28o  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

One  would  run  risks  and  be  false  to  the  traditions  of 
her  race  for  his  sake.  The  other,  if  she  should  know, 
might  die  of  the  knowledge.  And,  although  he  loved 
her,  the  thought  caused  a  thrill  of  savage  joy,  but  he 
promptly  repressed  it.  Luckily,  however,  she  would 
know  nothing  of  it.  And  he  became  intoxicated  with 
the  rapid  movement  and  with  pride,  man  and  beast 
combined,  fairly  launched  upon  his  mad  career. 

Magnificent  was  the  sky,  studded  with  more  stars  than 
the  dunes  have  grains  of  sand  and  the  desert  waving 
flowers  clinging  to  the  twigs  of  the  saladelles.  The 
Milky- Way  was  as  white  as  the  pyramids  of  salt  seen 
through  the  morning  mist.  One  would  have  said  that 
a  vast  bridal  veil,  torn  in  strips,  was  floating  above  the 
whole  plain,  alive  with  murmurs  of  love. 

Innumerable  little  snails  were  perched,  like  blossoms, 
upon  the  stalks  of  the  reeds,  and  swung  to  and  fro. 

A  very  gentle  breeze  was  blowing  and  raising  a  slight, 
uncertain  ripple  along  the  edges  of  the  marsh,  with  the 
sound  of  a  furtive  kiss  among  the  flowering  rushes.  At 
times,  a  lark  or  a  flamingo,  asleep  among  the  reeds  or 
in  the  shallow  water,  would  awaken  ever  so  little  and 
chirp  to  let  his  mate  know  that  he  was  there,  not  far 
away. 

June  is  no  hotter.  Sometimes  the  smell  of  roses  filled 
their  nostrils,  coming  in  long  pufis  from  far-off"  gardens. 
Yonder,  in  the  park  of  the  Chateau  d' Avignon,  the 
Syrian  tree  was  sending  forth  its  pollen. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  281 

Renaud,  after  skirting  the  sea  for  some  distance,  rode 
due  northeast,  beyond  the  pond  of  La  Dame. 

He  was  bound  for  Grand-Patis.  The  people  at  Sam- 
buc  had  some  boats  that  he  knew  of. 

For  a  moment,  they  rode  beside  a  drove.  Bulls, 
standing  in  water  up  to  their  thighs,  hardly  noticed, 
were  feeding  on  the  flowering  reeds.  White  mares  fled 
at  their  approach,  followed  faithfully  by  stallions  anx- 
ious not  to  lose  sight  of  them.  The  sap  of  May  was 
flowing  in  the  reeds  and  rushes,  in  the  sambucus  and 
tamarisk.  The  very  water  exhaled  a  saline  odor,  stronger 
than  usual,  and  more  heavily  laden  with  desires.  The 
wild  vine  called  to  its  mate,  that  came  borne  upon 
the  heavy  breath  of  the  blooming  desert. 

Again  Renaud  stopped,  seized  with  a  mild,  pleasurable 
vertigo. 

The  fresh,  love-compelling  breeze  in  which  they  were 
bathed  laid  an  imperious  command  upon  him. 

"  Get  down,"  said  he,  "  get  down  at  once  !  This  is 
a  good  place  to  rest." 

But  she  remembered  the  order  she  had  given, 

"We  must  go  where  we  were  going,"  said  she.  "I 
will  not  get  down  until  we  are  there.  We  must  cross 
the  Rhone,  you  say  ?  Press  on,  press  on  ! — Gallop  ! 
The  gipsy  loves  the  horse." 

She  would  have  none  of  his  caresses  except  at  the 
place  appointed.  She  would  not  submit  to  him  until 
they  should  be  where  he  was,  by  her  agency,  in  danger 


282  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

of  death  or  suffering.  A  kiss  under  other  circumstances 
would  be  a  triumph  for  him,  and  she  gave  herself  to 
him  for  her  own  pleasure  alone.  She  desired  to  feel, 
in  the  interchange  of  caresses,  that  the  moisture  of  her 
lips  was  poison,  that  her  bite  would  cause  death  or 
madness. 

Firmly  seated  en  croupe,  still  clinging  fast  to  the 
drover — her  victim — with  her  arm  wound  about  him, 
her  bare  legs  hanging  in  the  folds  of  her  skirt  which  the 
wind  raised  as  they  sped  along,  with  her  head  thrown 
proudly  back,  she  swayed  gracefully  with  the  rocking 
motion  of  the  gallop ;  and  her  face,  which  had  a  sallow 
look  in  the  moonlight  against  the  neck  of  the  man 
whom  she  was  leading  astray,  albeit  she  seemed  to  be 
carried  away  by  him — her  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles. 

When  Herodias  had  obtained  the  head  of  John  the 
Baptist,  she  lifted  it  by  the  hair  from  the  gold  charger, 
whereon  it  lay  with  a  circle  of  blood  around  the  neck, 
raised  it  to  the  level  of  her  face,  and  after  gazing  upon 
it  with  deep  interest,  examining  the  closed  eyelids  and 
long  lashes  and  the  transparent  pallor  of  the  cheeks, 
she  suddenly  placed  her  mouth  upon  that  lifeless  mouth 
and  sought  to  force  her  tongue  between  the  lips  to  the 
cold  teeth  too  tightly  closed  in  death,  esteeming  that 
kis.s,  inflicted  on  her  dead  foe,  more  delicious  than  the 
incestuous  caresses  for  which  he  had  reproved  her. 

What  was  left  of  Renaud's  suspicions  of  Zinzara, 
while  she  was  smiling  in  the  darkness,  and  the  warm 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  283 

breath  from  her  lips  was  playing  upon  his  neck?  He 
had  ceased  to  reflect ;  he  rode  on.  He  willingly  post- 
poned the  longed-for  hour,  now  that  he  was  forced  to 
go  on.  He  thought  no  more  of  violence.  His  happi- 
ness was  secure.  He  could  wait.  In  the  midst  of  the 
deserted  plains,  still  warm  from  the  sunlight  though 
refreshed  by  the  night  air,  love  came  without  calling, 
but  he  enjoyed  the  anticipation  more  than  anything 
he  had  known. — And  then  she  might  escape  him.  even 
now.  He  must  be  careful  not  to  startle  her.  When  they 
reached  the  nest  yonder,  he  would  keep  her  there  some 
time.  And  so  he  rode  on,  inhaling  the  saline  air  of 
the  desert,  which  was  his — with  his  stallion's  four  shoe- 
less feet  trampling  through  the  sand  and  water,  which 
were  his  also — bound  for  the  horizon,  which  would,  soon 
be  his. 

Once,  however,  in  the  midst  of  a  swamp,  where  the 
water  was  above  his  horse's  knees,  he  stopped  again. 

"What  is  it?"  said  she. 

Renaud  turned  his  head,  and  throwing  himself  back, 
called  her  with  a  smacking  of  his  lips. 

"When  I  am  ready!"  said  Zinzara  in  a  mocking 
tone. 

As  she  spoke,  Blanchet  leaped  forward,  with  all  four 
feet  in  the  air,  and  made  a  tremendous  splashing  in 
the  water,  which  fell  about  their  heads  in  a  heavy 
shower. 

And,  unseen  by  Renaud,  the  gipsy  smiled  against  his 


284  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

neck,  as  she  replaced  in  her  hair  the  long  gold  pin  she 

had  plunged  into  the  beast's  flank. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  shout  of  Qui  vive  ?  directly  in 
front  of  them,  so  unexpected  in  the  solitude,  that 
Blanchet  jumped  again. 

''Qui  vive?''  the  voice  repeated. 

"The  king !  "  Renaud  replied  gaily. 

"  Ah !  is  it  you,  Renaud  ?  ' ' 

It  was  the  revenue  officers ;  but  Renaud  hurried  by, 
at  a  safe  distance,  so  that  they  might  not  recognize  the 
gitana. 

They  were  near  the  salt  spring  of  Badon.  The  rec- 
tangular heaps  of  salt  seemed  like  so  many  long,  low 
houses,  with  sharp  roofs.  In  its  shroud-like  whiteness 
the  spot  resembled  a  little  town,  geometrically  laid  out, 
asleep  under  dead  snow. 

They  reached  the  shore  of  the  main  stream  of  the 

Rhone. 

Zinzara  was  on  the  ground  before  Renaud  had  stopped 

his  horse. 

He  alighted  in  his  turn,  and  handed  the  rein  to  the 
gipsy.  She  held  Blanchet  while  he  was  drinking  in 
the  river. 

"  Now  for  some  oats  !  "  said  Renaud. 

He  took  a  small  sack  that  was  fastened  across  his 
saddle-bow,  from  holster  to  holster,  and  at  Zinzara' s 
suggestion  emptied  it  into  her  dress  which  she  held  up 
with  both  hands. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  285 

Poor,  poor  Blanchet !  there  was  only  a  handful  of 
grain. 

"  Wait  for  me;  I'll  go  to  find  the  boat." 

Renaud  disappeared  in  the  darkness  behind  the  reeds 
and  willows  that  grew  along  the  bank,  drowned  in  the 
mist,  floating  like  pallid  spectres  in  the  darkness. 

Zinzara  heard  nothing  save  the  plashing  of  the 
water,  and  the  crunching  of  the  oats  between  Blan- 
chet's  teeth,  as  he  swept  them  up  with  his  long  lip 
from  the  hollow  of  the  dress. — Oh  !  if  Livette  could 
have  seen  that ! 

"  Here  I  am,  come  !"  said  Renaud's  voice. 

He  approached,  raising  the  oars.  She  walked  to  the 
water's  edge. 

"  Hold  the  reins  fast.     The  horse  will  follow  us." 

She  stepped  into  the  boat  and  stood  in  the  stern. 
Blanchet  followed,  in  the  wake. 

Renaud  knew  the  current  at  that  spot.  He  rowed 
diagonally  across  and  reached  the  other  shore  more 
than  a  hundred  yards  farther  down. 

He  tied  the  boat  to  the  trunk  of  a  willow  and  tight- 
ened the  girths,  and  they  were  off  again. 

It  was  necessary  to  ascend  the  stream  a  long  distance 
to  find  a  place  to  ford  the  canal  that  runs  from  Aries 
to  Port-le-Bouc.  When  they  had  crossed  the  canal, 
he  said : 

**  We  are  almost  there." 

They  had  ridden  nearly  five  hours. 


286  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

His  desires  were  approaching  fruition.  He  was  seized 
with  the  impatience  that  comes  with  the  last  half-hour. 
He  had  a  vision  of  what  was  to  come. 

"It  is  in  the  gargate,''  he  said.  And  he  explained: 
"  The  gargate  is  like  thickened  water.  It  is  about  the 
same  as  mud.  The  cabin  we  are  going  to  is  in  the  midst 
of  one  of  these  patches  of  mud.  Ah  !  we  shall  be  well 
protected  there,  gitana,  I  promise  you.  A  man  once 
lived  there  for  a  long  while;  a  conscript  who  wanted 
to  evade  the  draft.  And  later,  an  escaped  convict,  a 
native  of  the  neighborhood,  who  knew  about  the  place. 
No  one  could  dislodge  him  there.  Others  know  the 
spot;  but  never  fear,  I  have  a  way  to  fool  them.  Trust 
me,  gitana,  we  shall  be  well  guarded  there,  by  death 
hidden  in  the  water  around  us!" 

They  reached  their  destination. 

Renaud  tied  his  horse  to  a  tree,  and  took  Zinzara's 
hand. 

"  Follow  me,"  he  said. 

The  moon  was  rising.  With  the  end  of  a  stick,  he 
pointed  out  to  her,  just  above  the  surface  of  the  water, 
the  heads  of  the  stakes,  looming  black  among  the  stalks 
of  thorn-broom  and  reeds  and  the  broad,  spreading 
leaves  of  the  water-lily. 

"Always  step  to  the  left  of  the  stakes,"  he  said; 
"they  mark  the  right-hand  edge  of  the  solid  path  just 
below  the  surface  of  the  water." 

Renaud  had  taken  off  his  shoes  and  stockings.     She 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  287 

lifted  her  skirts  and  walked  with  bare  legs,  and  he  held 
her  hand.  They  walked  thus  for  some  time.  Her 
interest  was  aroused  by  her  surroundings.  The  place 
pleased  her. 

The  water  was  disturbed  a  little  here  and  there.  She 
stopped  and  watched. 

"Turtles,"  said  he;  and  added:  "Here  is  the 
cabin." 

The  cabin  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  bog,  built  on 
piles,  as  was  the  path  leading  to  it.  Reeds  and  a  few 
tamarisks  surrounded  it,  and  made  it  invisible  from 
almost  every  direction.  On  the  gray,  thatched  roof, 
shaped  like  a  hay-stack,  the  little  cross  gleamed  in  the 
moonlight,  bent  back  as  if  the  wind  had  tried  to  blow 
it  down. 

The  back  of  the  cabin  was  turned  to  the  mistral. 
They  entered.  Renaud  took  a  candle  from  his  wallet 
and  struck  a  match.     The  light  danced  upon  the  walls. 

The  low  walls  were  of  grayish  mud,  set  in  a  rough 
frame-work.  The  floor  was  covered  with  a  bed  of 
reeds.  A  cotton  cloth,  to  keep  out  the  gnats,  hung 
before  the  door.  There  was  a  stationary  table  against 
the  wall  at  the  right,  near  the  head  of  the  bed ;  it  was  a 
flat  stone  supported  by  four  pieces  of  timber  fastened  to 
the  floor. 

Renaud  set  his  candle  down  on  the  stone.  The 
gitana,  already  seated  on  the  rough  bed,  watched  him 
with  a  savage  look  in  her  eyes.     She  began  to  feel  that 


288  KING  OF.CAMARGUE 

she  was  a  little  too  much  in  his  power,  that  it  was  a 
little  too  much  like  being  under  his  roof. 

The  cabin  was  like  all  the  cabins  in  the  district. 
From  the  ceiling  bunches  of  reed  blossoms  hung  like 
waving  silver  plumes.  The  big  cross-timbers  of  the 
ceiling  were  pinned  together  with  wooden  pegs,  the  large 
ends  of  which  projected,  and  some  few  scraps  of  worn- 
out  clothes  were  still  hanging  from  them.  There  was 
a  fire-place  in  one  corner,  made  of  large  stones  placed 
side  by  side,  and  in  the  roof,  directly  above  it,  was  a 
hole  for  the  smoke. 

Renaud  hung  his  wallet  on  one  of  the  pegs. 

"Now,  wait  for  me,"  he  said,  with  a  loud  laugh, 
"I'm  going  out  to  attend  to  the  horse." 

She  was  surprised,  but  after  she  had  glanced  at  him, 
she  could  think  of  nothing  but  Rampal. 

He  went  out  to  Blanchet,  removed  the  saddle  and  laid 
it  on  the  ground,  then  mounted  him,  bareback,  and 
rode  him  to  a  i)asture  some  distance  away,  where  he 
hobbled  him  and  left  him. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Renaud  returned,  with 
his  saddle  across  his  shoulders,  to  the  cabin  where  Zin- 
zara  was  awaiting  him.  But,  as  he  walked  along  the 
solid  path,  a  black  ribbon  covered  by  a  sheet  of  shallow 
water,  he  took  up  the  stakes  that  marked  one  edge  of 
the  path,  and  moved  them  from  the  right  side  to  the 
left ; — so  that,  if  that  beggarly  Rampal,  the  only  man 
likely  to  follow  him  to  that  lair,  chose  to  come  there, 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  289 

he  certainly  would  not  go  far,  but  would  remain  there, 
buried  up  to  his  neck  at  least ! 

When  he  had  changed  the  position  of  the  first  twenty 
stakes,  the  only  ones  visible  from  the  shore  of  the  bog, 
Renaud  stood  up  and  walked  swiftly  toward  the  cabin. 
His  heart  at  that  moment  was  sad,  and  more  filled  with 
slime  and  noxious  things  than  the  waters  of  the  swamp, 
which,  though  they  glistened  in  the  moonlight,  were 
black  beneath  the  surface. 


XXII 

IN  THE  NEST 

In  the  contracted  cage,  whose  thatched  roof,  with  its 
peak  of  red  tiles,  shone  in  the  moonlight  amid  the  marsh 
plants,  the  two  beasts  of  the  same  species,  Zinzara  and 
Renaud,  were  shut  up  together. 

"I  ahi  hungry,"  said  she,  in  a  hostile  tone. 

He  took  a  tin  box  from  his  wallet  and  raised  the 
cover ;  it  contained  the  wherewithal  to  support  life ;  he 
cut  the  bread  and  uncorked  the  bottle. 

She  ate  silently,  still  with  the  savage  look  in  her  eyes. 
He  waited  upon  her,  partaking  also  of  the  dry  bread 
himself,  and  putting  his  lips  to  the  flat  bottle,  filled  with 
the  strong  wine  of  the  wild  grape. 

When  they  had  eaten,  he  handed  her  a  small  flask  of 

brandy.     She  drank  from  it,  joyfully,  and  soon  her  eyes 

began  to  sparkle.     He  looked  at  her,  ready  to  embrace 

her.     She  answered  him  with  a  glance  so  mocking  and 

unfathomable,   that  he   hesitated,   waiting  for  he  knew 

not  what,  weary  besides,  and  feeling  that  his  brain  was 

confused. 

291 


292  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

He  saw  her  thereupon  take  her  tambourine,  which  she 
wore  fastened  to  her  belt  by  a  small  cord,  under  her 
dress ;  and  she  began  to  play  upon  it.  She  was  sitting 
on  the  bed.  She  struck  regular,  monotonous  blows  upon 
the  vibrating  skin,  and  at  every  blow  the  charms  de- 
pending from  the  tambourine  jangled  noisily. 

Then  she  began  to  sing  outlandish  words,  in  slow 
measure,  beating  time  with  the  tambourine.  And  this 
proceeding  at  length  fascinated  the  drover,  who  gazed 
at  her,  as  completely  under  the  spell  as  the  lizard 
listening  to  the  locust  in  the  sunshine  on  a  summer's 
day. 

This  lasted  an  hour.  He  watched  her,  enchanted, 
proud,  thinking  of  nothing  but  her,  and  he  felt  his  heart 
leap  and  quiver  in  his  breast  at  every  touch  upon  the 
tambourine. 

But  one  would  have  said  that  she  had  drawn  about 
herself  a  circle  that  he  could  not  cross.  He  waited  until 
the  circle  should  be  broken.  He  was  like  one  of  the 
great  dogs  trained  to  guard  droves  of  bulls ;  that  are  so 
fearless  of  blows  from  the  horns  of  their  charges,  but  sit 
obediently  by  watching  their  master  at  his  meals,  waiting 
for  the  crumb  he  tosses  them,  slaves  of  the  king,  of  their 
god,  who  is  man. 

She  had  now  the  effect  upon  him  of  a  genuine  queen, 
a  queen  in  some  fairy  tale,  with  her  studied  attitudes 
accompanied  by  the  monotonous  music,  which  was  ac- 
centuated by  the  ceaseless  motion  of  the  sequins  of  her 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  293 

crown  of  copper  against  her  swarthy  brow  and  the  dead 
black  of  her  hair. 

Suddenly  she  laid  her  tambourine  aside.  He  started 
toward  her.  She  held  him  back  with  a  stern  glance, 
and  snatching  away  the  silk  handkerchief  that  covered 
her  shoulders,  appeared  before  him  in  a  rich  waist  of 
many  colors;  and  he  saw  upon  her  breast  necklaces 
of  gold  pieces — her  fortune. 

"Await  my  pleasure,"  said  she.  "Leave  me  in 
peace  a  moment." 

She  covered  her  head  with  the  ample  handkerchief 
she  had  taken  off  and  remained  hidden  behind  that  veil 
for  a  moment.  Renaud  heard  her  muttering  unfamiliar 
words — morjfw,  gorgo — words  of  sorcery,  without  doubt. 

When  she  threw  back  her  veil,  she  was  laughing. 

What  vision  had  the  sorceress  evoked  ?  what  had  the 
seer  seen? 

*'  It  will  be  better  than  I  hoped  !  "  said  she.  "  Now, 
look!" 

She  rose,  and  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  jangling 
of  the  sequins  in  her  diadem  and  the  gold  pieces  of 
her  necklace,  set  in  motion  by  her  slow  dance,  in  the 
course  of  which  she  did  not  move  from  where  she  stood, 
she  removed  her  garments,  one  by  one. 

By  the  flickering  light  of  the  candle,  that  waved  back 
and  forth  as  a  breath  of  air  came  in  through  the  door, 
Renaud  watched  the  familiar  vision  reappear. 

Zinzara  swayed  this  way  and  that  as  she  unfastened, 


294  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

one  after  another,  her  waist,  her  skirts — and  took  them 
off,  bending  gracefully  forward  and  backward,  raising 
her  arms  above  her  head  or  lowering  them  to  her 
ankles.  And  now  you  would  have  said  it  was  a  bronze 
statue,  glistening  in  the  half-darkness.  Renaud  knew 
that  figure  well,  from  having  seen  it  one  day  in  the 
bright  sunlight,  and  so  many,  many  times  since  then, 
in  his  imagination. 

The  necklace  tinkled  upon  her  swelling  breasts; 
several  large  rings  were  around  her  ankles,  and  upon 
her  brow,  the  crown  from  which  the  trinkets  hung. 

She  turned  and  twisted  gracefully  about,  her  dark 
skin  gleaming  like  a  mirror. 

"You  see,"  said  she,  "  Zinzara  gives  herself,  no  man 
takes  her,  romi.  The  wild  girl  belongs  to  no  one  but 
herself.  And  even  now  I  could,  if  I  chose,  nail  you 
where  you  stand,  forever!  " 

As  she  spoke,  she  threw  down  upon  her  clothes  a 
keen-edged  stiletto  that  had  gleamed  for  an  instant  in 
her  hand. 

"  Come!  "  said  she. 

They  lay,  side  by  side,  on  the  floor  of  that  hovel, 
upon  the  crackling  reeds. 

At  that  moment,  he  looked  into  the  depths  of  her 
eyes,  and  he  saw  there  vague  things  by  which  he  had 
already  on  several  occasions  been  profoundly  alarmed. 
The  gitana's  hidden  purpose,  as  to  which  she  herself 
had  no  clear  idea,  flickered  uncertainly  in  her  glance, 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  295 

making  its  presence  felt,  but  giving  no  hint  by  which 
it  could  be  divined. 

Her  smile,  which  was  ordinarily  visible  only  at  the 
corner  of  her  mouth,  had  spread,  more  unfathomable 
than  ever,  over  her  whole  face,  which  wore  an  expres- 
sion of  triumphant  mockery.  More  mysterious  she  ap- 
peared and  more  desirable.  If  Renaud  had  been  familiar 
with  the  carved  stone  animals  that  lie  sleeping  in  the 
Egyptian  desert,  he  would  have  recognized  their  expres- 
sion, an  expression  that  words  cannot  describe,  upon 
the  speaking  face  that  gazed  at  him  and  called  him. 

And,  lo !  the  hatred  he  had  once  before  felt  for  that 
face,  for  that  glance,  returned  swiftly,  imperiously,  to 
his  mind ;  an  irresistible  desire  to  seize  the  woman  by 
the  neck  and  choke  her  with  cruel,  unyielding  hands. 

Even  that  feeling  was  love,  for  otherwise  it  would 
have  occurred  to  him  to  part  abruptly  from  the  sorceress, 
to  fly  from  her;  that  thought  would  have  come  to  him, 
once  at  least,  and  it  did  not  come.  On  the  contrary, 
he  felt  that  he  could  not  really  possess  her  except  by 
some  violence  of  that  sort.  Is  it  not  true  that  mares 
look  upon  bites  as  caresses? — She  saw  the  thought  in 
his  eyes,  and  began  to  laugh. 

Again  she  recognized  distinctly,  and  with  delight, 
the  brute  like  herself  that  she  had  aroused  in  him. 
And  she  did  it  to  demonstrate  her  power  to  subdue 
the  brute,  with  a  look. 

'*  Oh  !  you  may  !  "  she  said,  with  a  smile. 


296  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

As  she  spoke,  he  caught  a  rapid  glimpse  of  the  part 
she  was  to  play  in  his  destiny :  the  pollution  of  his  life, 
the  loss  of  real  happiness,  of  all  repose,  and  the  false 
love — the  strongest  of  all  passions. 

Their  glances,  laden  with  amorous  hate,  met  and 
struck  fire  like  knife-blades. 

He  seized  her  around  the  neck  and  was  very  near 
choking  her  in  good  earnest ;  he  thought  that  he  would 
strangle  her.  "  Come,  come  !  "  she  said  in  a  languish- 
ing voice ;  but,  suddenly  feeling  the  pressure  of  the 
hand  that  was  really  squeezing  her  throat,  she  leaped 
up  at  him,  and,  with  a  strangled  laugh,  hurled  her  mouth 
at  his  and  bit  his  lips.  They  could  hear  their  teeth 
clash.  He  uttered  a  cry  which  was  at  once  stifled,  for 
their  angry  lips  had  no  sooner  met  than  they  were 
appeased. 

She  gazed  at  him  for  a  long  while,  looking  always 
into  his  eyes.  She  saw  them  more  than  once  grow  dim 
and  sightless,  and  then,  exulting  in  the  thought  of  this 
wild  bull's  weakness  in  her  hands,  she  laughed  silently ; 
but  no  emotion  dimmed  the  brightness  of  her  eyes. 
Suddenly,  when  he  had  grown  calmer,  a  profound  sigh 
caused  him  to  look  with  more  attention  at  the  savage 
creature  he  had  conquered  at  last.  A  pallor  as  of  the 
other  world  overspread  her  swarthy  face ;  her  features 
were  distended.  She  was  no  longer  smiling.  The 
wrinkle  that  ordinarily  raised  one  corner  of  her  lips 
and   gave  her  an  air  of  mockery  had  vanished.      The 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  297 

corners  of  her  mouth,  on  the  other  hand,  drooped  a 
little,  imparting  a  sad  expression  to  her  face.  One 
would  have  said  she  was  a  different  being.  There  was 
no  trace  of  animation  upon  her  features.  She  no  longer 
belonged  to  herself.  An  attack  of  vertigo  had  taken 
away  her  power  of  thought.  She  was  like  a  drow^ned 
woman  drifting  with  the  tide.  Something  as  everlasting 
as  death  had  proved  stronger  than  she. 

As  if  from  the  midst  of  one  of  those  dreams  which, 
in  a  second,  open  eternity  to  our  gaze,  she  returned  to 
herself  with  amazement. 

The  snake-charmer  realized  that  she  had  been  defeated 
in  a  way  she  was  unaccustomed  to ;  she  experienced  a 
curious  sensation  of  shame,  a  sort  of  proud  regret  that 
she  had  forgotten  herself  as  never  before. — And  was  he, 
without  even  suspecting  the  trap  she  had  set  for  him, 
tranquilly  to  carry  off  the  gratification  of  his  passion 
with  which  she  had  baited  the  trap  ?  In  that  case  she 
would  have  betrayed  herself!  She  would  be  the  victim 
of  her  detested  lover !  of  Livette's  betrothed ! — The 
mere  thought  was  intolerable  to  her.  And  in  a  frenzy 
of  rage  and  humiliation  she  put  out  her  hand  and  felt 
among  her  clothes  that  lay  in  a  pile  near  by,  for  the 
stiletto  she  had  insolently  thrown  upon  them  just  before. 

Renaud  understood  only  one  thing ;  the  beast  was 
becoming  ugly  again  !  He  seized  her  wrists  and  held 
her  arms  to  the  ground,  crossed  above  her  head,  and 
then  he  began  to  laugh  in  his  turn. 


298  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Her  insane  rage  came  to  the  surface;  she  writhed 
about  and  tried  to  bite,  but  could  not.  She  felt  that 
her  power  was  gone,  that  she  was  in  the  hands  of  one 
stronger  than  herself.  Without  understanding  her,  he 
felt  that  she  was  dangerous  and  he  mastered  her.  The 
Christian  had  her  in  his  power  !  It  was  too  much.  She 
felt  her  eyes  bursting  with  the  tears  that  were  ready  to 
gush  forth,  but  she  forced  them  back.  A  little  foam 
appeared  at  the  corner  of  her  mouth. 

"  Dog  I  "  she  exclaimed. 

At  that,  the  man  whose  face  she  saw  above  her  own, 
bending  over  and  rising  again  quickly,  touched  her  lips 
with  his.  And  he  had  the  feeling  that  the  hand  that 
grasped  the  stiletto  relaxed  its  hold. 

At  that  moment,  a  wailing  cry  rent  the  air  above  the 
cabin,  then  ceased  abruptly,  before  it  had  died  away  in 
the  distance,  as  if  the  bird  that  uttered  that  signal  of 
distress  had  lighted  among  the  reeds  near  at  hand,  and 
had  at  once  become  mute. 

Renaud  took  his  eyes  from  the  gitana's  face. 

"What  is  that?"  said  he. 

"A  curlew  flying  over!"  she  replied,  without  mov- 
ing.— "The  curlew  goes  south  in  winter." 

Renaud  was  on  his  feet,  pale  as  death. 

"  King,"  said  she,  "  do  you  love  your  queen  ?  Then 
look  at  her  !  " 

And,  as  she  lay  upon  her  back,  she  began  to  make 
her  snake-like  body  undulate  and  gleam  like  a  mirror. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  299 

keeping  time  with  her  tambourine,  which  she  held  above 
her  head. 

The  bursts  of  laughter  with  which  she  punctuated  the 
outlandish  music  displayed  her  glistening  teeth  from  end 
to  end. 

"  Come  back  here,"  she  said,  "are  you  afraid?  " 

He  was  ashamed,  and,  returning  to  the  straw  pallet, 
resumed  his  role  of  subjugated  watch-dog  in  love  with  a 
she-wolf. 

In  that  one  night,  the  young  man  felt  the  whole  power 
of  his  youth,  learned  more  of  life  and  realized  more 
dreams  than  many  real  kings. 

The  pleasures  of  love  are  no  greater  to  the  prince 
than  to  the  charcoal-burner. 

The  day  was  breaking.  Bands  of  violet  along  the 
horizon  changed  to  pink  and  then  to  yellow.  An 
awakening  breeze  passed  like  a  shiver  over  the  desert 
of  sand  and  water,  entered  the  cabin,  and  blew  out  the 
flickering  light  on  the  stone  table. 

A  cock  in  the  distance  welcomed  the  dawn. 

Thereupon,  Renaud  started  to  go  to  find  his  horse. 
The  wallet  was  empty,  too. 

"At  the  Icard  farm,"  said  he,  "I  can  get  what  I 
need." 

"Do  you  suppose,"  said  she,  "that  I  intend  to  stay 
here  all  day  like  a  captive  goose?" 

"  Is  it  all  over,  then  ?  "  said  he,  "and  are  you  going 
away,  too  ?  ' ' 


300  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

"To  return  may  be  a  pleasure,"  said  she,  "but  to 
remain  is  always  a  bore." 

She  hummed  in  the  gipsy  language : 

"  God  gave  thy  mare  no  rein,  Romichal." 

"If  you  choose,"  she  continued,  "we  will  ride  to- 
gether till  night.     My  house  has  wings." 

"Very  good,"  said  Renaud.  "Do  you  cross  over 
to  solid  ground  first.  We  will  go  together  and  get  my 
horse.     It  will  be  a  fine  day." 

"And  a  good  one!  be  sure  of  that!"  said  she,  in 
her  jerky  voice,  her  voice  which  resembled  another^ s. 

He  went  with  her  as  far  as  the  first  of  the  stakes  he 
had  displaced,  to  point  out  the  safe  road  to  her,  and 
when  he  saw  her  reach  the  edge  of  the  swamp  sixty  feet 
beyond,  he  stooped  and  began  to  put  the  stakes  in  place 
one  by  one  as  he  walked  toward  the  firm  ground. 

When  he  reached  the  last,  he  sprang  to  his  feet  with 
haggard  eyes. 

Livette,  with  head  thrown  back,  face  turned  toward 
the  sky,  eyes  closed,  mouth  open,  and  grass  mingled 
with  her  straying  hair,  was  lying  among  the  water-lilies, 
as  if  asleep,  and  in  the  throes  of  a  bad  dream.  He 
also  saw  her  two  little  clenched  hands^  above  the  water, 
clinging  to  the  reeds. 

Transformed  for  a  moment  to  a  statue,  Renaud  soon 
aroused  himself,  and,  bending  over  Livette,  put  his  hands 
under  her  armpits.     The  poor  body,  buried  in  the  thick. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  301 

black  ooze,  came  slowly  forth,  torn  from  its  bed  like  the 
smooth  stalk  of  a  lily. 

When  he  had  the  poor  body  in  his  arms,  inert  and 
cold,  perhaps  dead, — the  body  of  the  poor,  dear  child, 
whose  skirts,  entangled  in  a  net-work  of  long  grasses, 
clung  tightly  to  her  dangling  legs, — Renaud  suddenly 
uttered  a  roar  as  of  an  enraged  wild  beast,  and  ran  like 
a  madman  at  the  top  of  his  speed  to  the  nearest  farm- 
house. 


XXIII 

THE   PURSUIT 

One  forgives  only  those  whom  one  loves ;  only  those 
who  love  forgive.  Love  at  its  apogee  is  naught  but 
the  power  of  inspiring  forgiveness  and  bestowing  it; 
and  the  social  laws,  which  are  of  the  mechanism  of 
human  justice,  seem  to  have  realized  that  fact,  since 
they  ignore  the  testimony  of  all  those  who  would  nat- 
urally be  expected  to  love  the  culprit. 

Sympathy  is  simply  a  laying  aside — in  favor  of  those 
we  love — of  the  implacable  severity  which  we  use  but 
little  in  dealing  with  ourselves,  and  which  attributes  to 
those  who  pass  judgment  an  unerring  wisdom  which  is 
not  human,  or  a  self-confidence  which  is  too  much  so. 

Livette,  as  she  lay  sick  upon  the  best  bed  in  the 
Icard  farm-house,  already  had,  in  her  sorrowing  heart, 
an  adorable  feeling  of  indulgence  for  Renaud,  which 
would  have  made  the  blessed  maidens  who  laid  the 
Crucified  One  in  his  shroud,  smile  with  joy  in  the  mystic 
heaven  of  the  lofty  chapel.  She  believed  that  she 
would  die  by  her  fiance's  fault,   and  she  pitied  him. 

303 


304  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Forgiveness  sooner  or  later  redeems  him  who  receives, 
and  consoles  him  who  accords  it.  In  the  sentiment  of 
compassion  is  hidden  the  divine  future  of  mankind. 

Renaud  was  still  ignorant  of  Livette's  indulgence. 
Indeed,  he  could  not  deserve  it  until  he  had  come  to 
look  upon  himself  as  forever  unworthy. 

For  the  moment,  he  had  not  gone  to  the  bottom  of 
the  hell  of  evil  thoughts. 

When  he  found  Livette  half  drowned  in  the  gargate, 
his  first  impulse,  born  of  true  love  and  pity  for  her,  in 
absolute  forgetfulness  of  himself,  lasted  but  an  instant — 
but  it  had  existed.  Renaud  at  first  suffered  for  her  and 
for  her  alone. 

His  second  impulse,  almost  immediate,  and  praise- 
worthy still,  although  there  was  a  touch  of  selfishness  in 
it,  was  to  condemn  himself,  through  fear  of  moral  re- 
sponsibility. Had  he  not  with  his  own  hand  displaced 
the  stakes  that  marked  the  path,  with  the  idea,  inde- 
fensible at  best,  that  Rampal  would  be  misled  by  that 
treacherous  method  of  defence?  Yes,  almost  immedi- 
ately after  he  uttered  his  cry  of  agony,  he  shuddered 
with  terror  at  the  thought  of  the  remorse  that  was  in 
store  for  him,  as  soon  as  he  felt  that  Livette  was  like  a 
dead  woman  in  his  arms. 

When  he  had  given  her  in  charge  of  the  women  at  the 
main  farm-house  of  thelcard  farm,  where  there  was  great 
excitement  over  such  an  adventure  at  that  time  of  day, 
he  questioned  two  old  peasant-women  who  knew  more 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  305 

than  all  the  doctors  in  the  province.  After  doing  what 
was  necessary  for  Livette,  they  cheerfully  declared  that 
the  poor  girl  would  not  die  of  it ;  they  even  said  that  it 
was  "  nothing  at  all."  He  did  not  even  try  to  under- 
stand how  she  had  come  so  far  to  fall  into  the  trap  ! 

She  would  not  die  !  That  was  the  essential  thing  at 
that  moment.  What  a  relief  to  him,  for  he  was  already 
accusing  himself  of  his  little  sweetheart's  death !  He 
had  been  so  afraid  !  And  it  turned  out  to  be  only  a 
warning  !  God  be  praised,  and  blessed  be  the  mighty 
saints  who  had  performed  such  a  miracle ! 

But  the  devil  rejoiced  when  he  looked  into  Renaud's 
conscience,  for  he  saw  the  course  his  ideas  were  about  to 
take,  a  course  that  would  lead  him  from  bad  to  worse. 

Reassured  as  to  Livette, — and  as  to  himself, — he  flew 
into  a  passion  with  the  accursed  gitana,  the  indirect 
cause,   at  least,   of  all  this  misery. 

"Ah  !  the  beggar  !  I  will  kill  her  ! — it  will  be  easy 
to  find  her  again.  She  can't  be  far  away — I  will  kill 
her!" 

His  wrath  took  full  possession  of  him — he  ran  for  his 
horse.  Kill  her  ! — kill  her !  Nothing  could  be  more 
righteous. — And  he  went  about  it. 

Poor  Renaud  !  the  victim  of  all  the  involuntary  false- 
hoods which,  starting  from  ourselves,  one  engendering 
another,  sometimes  render  the  best  of  us  irresponsible 
and  drive  us  on  t-o  disaster  when  passion  makes  us 
mad. 


3o6  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

This  chain,  often  undiscoverable,  of  false  but  specious 
reasons  with  which  men  deceive  themselves,  each  fitting 
into  the  last  without  violence,  each  explaining  and  jus- 
tifying the  one  that  follows  it — leads  insensibly  to  acts 
incomprehensible  to  him  who  is  not  able  to  follow  it 
back,  link  by  link.  It  is  the  chain  of  Fatality,  in 
which  the  links,  consisting  of  trifling  but  suggestive 
facts,  of  decisive  circumstances,  unknown  sometimes  to 
the  culprit,  alternate  with  the  fictitious  good  motives 
he  has  invented  for  his  own  benefit  in  the  reflex  move- 
ments of  his  mind.  To  re-establish  the  logical  sequence 
of  facts,  of  sensations  suddenly  transformed  into  ideas, 
is  the  work  of  equity  which  reasons,  or  of  love  which 
divines.  In  default  of  tracing  back  the  chain  of  insen- 
sible, imperious  transitions,  we  find  between  the  crimi- 
nal who  has  long  been  an  honest  man  and  his  crime, 
the  abyss  at  sight  of  which  fools  and  unthinking  folk, 
filled  with  the  pride  of  implacable  sinners,  never  fail  to 
exclaim  :  "  It  is  monstrous !  "  But  if  God,  infinite  Love, 
does  exist,  everything  is  forgiven,  because  everything  is 
understood ;  there  are,  mayhap,  simply  the  miserable 
wretches  on  one  side,  and  divine  pity  on  the  other. 

Yes,  Renaud  would  have  killed  the  sorceress,  with 
savage  joy,  to  avenge  Livette.  But  was  not  that  desire, 
which  he  deemed  a  praiseworthy  one,  simply  a  pretext 
for  seeking  her  out  again  that  same  day,  for  seeing  her 
once  more? — That,  at  all  events,  is  what  the  devil 
himself  thought  as  he  crouched  on  the  floor  of  the  crypt 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  307 

in  the  church  of  Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer,  on  the  spot 
occupied  the  day  before  by  the  dark-browed  gipsies, 
beneath  the  shrine  of  Saint  Sara. 

And  so,  mounted  upon  Blanchet,  Renaud  galloped 
furiously  away  upon  his  tracks  of  the  night,  intending 
to  kill  Zinzara. 

Livette  would  not  die  ! — That  idea  caused  him  great 
joy,  so  great  that  he  was  no  sooner  out-of-doors,  away 
from  the  painful,  wearisome  spectacle  of  the  poor  un- 
conscious child,  than  he  yielded,  alas  !  to  the  influence 
of  the  bright  sunlight,  and  breathed  at  ease.  He  had 
already  ceased  to  think  of  Livette's  sufferings.  His 
satisfaction  had  already  ceased  to  be  anything  more  than 
selfishness :  not  only  would  he  not  have  to  reproach 
himself  for  her  death,  but,  more  than  that,  now  that 
she  knew  everything,  was  he  not  absolved,  as  it  were  ? 
There  was  nothing  more  for  him  to  fear.  The  worst 
that  could  happen  had  happened !  And  he  actually 
felt  as  if  a  weight  had  been  taken  from  his  shoulders, 
as  if  he  were  once  more  sincere  in  his  dealings  with 
Livette,  a  better  man,  in  short,  thanks  to  what  had 
happened.  Although  he  did  not  reason  this  out,  the 
thought  went  through  his  mind.  It  was  what  he  felt. 
For  everything  serves  the  passion  of  love ;  it  turns  to 
its  own  profit  the  very  things  that  would  naturally  tend 
most  to  thwart  it.  Moreover,  he  need  feel  no  qualms 
of  conscience,  as  he  was  going  to  chastise  the  malig- 
nant creature,  to  kill  her,  in  fact: — a  vile  race! 


3o8  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

No,  she  could  not  be  far  away.  Doubtless,  if  she 
had  planned  the  catastrophe,  she  had  concealed  herself 
near  at  hand  to  see  the  result. 

He  rode  back  toward  the  bridge  over  the  canal.  No 
one  had  seen  the  gipsy  there.  He  descended  the  Rhone 
to  the  spot  where  they  had  left  the  boat  the  night  before. 
The  boat  was  in  the  same  place,  fastened  by  the  same 
knot. 

He  began  to  fear  that  he  might  not  find  her.  But 
when,  after  searching  two  hours,  he  was  certain  of  it, 
he  was  much  surprised  to  find  that  he  did  not  feel  the 
righteous  wrath  of  the  olificer  of  justice  at  the  thought 
of  a  culprit  eluding  the  vengeance  of  the  law,  but  the 
sudden  distress  of  a  betrayed  lover.  He  did  not  cry 
to  himself:  "  I  shall  not  have  the  pleasure  of  punishing 
her  !  "  but :  "I  shall  never  see  her  again  !  "  And  that 
cry  burst  forth  in  his  heart  as  a  fierce  revelation  of 
unpardonable,  pitiless  love.  What !  he  loved  her !  he 
loved  her !  and  he  learned  it  for  the  first  time  at  that 
moment !  he  admitted  it  to  himself  for  the  first  time  ! 
— yes,  beyond  cavil  he  loved  her  —  now!  His  heart 
failed  him.  He  was  bewildered.  He  felt  a  vague  sense 
of  well-being,  due  to  the  mere  joy  of  loving,  marred 
by  a  feeling  of  intense  chagrin  at  the  thought  of  the 
certain  misery  that  lay  before  him.  He  was  horrified 
at  himself,  and,  at  the  same  moment,  decided  upon  his 
future  course  in  a  frenzy  of  excitement. 

The  physical  power  of  love  is  superb  and  appalling. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  309 

It  Stops  at  nothing.  And  the  man  who  is  watching 
beside  the  dying  or  the  dead,  even  though  it  be  some 
one  who  is  dear  to  him,  feels  a  thrill  of  joy  rush  to  his 
heart,  if  the  being  he  loves  with  all  the  force  of  his 
youth  passes  by. 

Renaud  had  just  held  Livette  almost  dying  in  his 
arms,  and  already  he  had  no  regret  save  for  the  other, 
for  the  woman  he  should  have  trampled  under  his  feet ! 

Thereupon,  all  the  events  of  the  night  returned  to  his 
mind,  and  finished  the  work  of  poisoning.  He  could 
not  be  reconciled  to  the  thought  that  he  should  never 
again  see  what  he  had  had  for  so  short  a  time.  No,  it 
could  not  be  at  an  end.  If  she  were  a  criminal,  why 
then  he  would  love  her  in  her  crime,  that  was  all !  The 
black  bull  was  loose. — But  Livette  ?  aha  !  Livette  ?  a 
swan's  feather,  or  a  red  flamingo's,  under  his  horse's 
hoof. 

What  was  the  placid  affection  the  young  maid  had 
inspired  in  his  heart  compared  to  the  frenzy  of  sorrow 
and  joy  the  other  caused  him  to  feel  ?  Sorrow  and  joy 
combined,  that  is  what  love  is ;  and  the  love  men  prefer 
is  not  that  which  contains  the  greater  joy  as  compared 
to  the  keener  sorrow — it  is  that  in  which  those  emotions 
are  most  intense.  It  was  that  law  of  passion  to  whose 
operation  Renaud  was  now  being  subjected.  He  real- 
ized that  he  had  definitely  chosen  the  other,  the  gipsy, 
despite  the  cry  of  his  outraged  sense  of  honor. 

That  cry  of  his  honest  heart,  to  which  he  no  longer 


3TO  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

lent  a  willing  ear,  he  still  heard,  do  what  he  would,  and 
he  suffered  half  consciously,  for  many  reasons  which  he 
did  not  distinguish  one  from  another,  but  which  resulted 
in  producing  a  confused  feeling  in  his  own  mind  that  he 
was  a  monster. 

A  monster  !  for  now  that  he  considered  the  matter 
more  carefully,  it  became  his  settled  conviction  that  the 
gitana  had  intended  to  kill  Livette  —  and  yet  it  was 
that  same  gitana  that  he  loved  ! 

Ah  !  the  witch  ! — She  had  certainly  seen  Livette,  her 
poor  little  head,  like  a  dead  woman's,  lying  on  the 
water  among  the  grass,  her  mouth  open  for  the  last  cry 
for  help,  her  teeth  glistening  with  water  in  the  sunlight ! 
She  could  not  have  helped  seeing  her. — And  she  had 
passed  her  by  without  a  word  ! — It  was  because  she  was 
determined  to  be  her  ruin.  She  had  evidently  led  her 
into  the  trap.  How?  What  did  it  matter!  but  it  was 
no  longer  possible  to  doubt  that  it  was  the  fact. 

But  in  that  case  —  if  she  was  really  guilty  —  there 
could  be  no  doubt,  either,  that  having  seen  her  desire 
accomplished,  she  had  fled.  She  would  appear  no  more! 
he  would  have  no  opportunity  to  kill  her  !  he  would 
never  see  her  again  !  And  the  thing  that  moved  him 
most  deeply  in  connection  with  Livette's  misfortune  was 
the  thought  that  it  involved  Zinzara's  flight.  He  tried 
in  vain  to  put  away  the  abominable  regiet ;  it  returned 
upon  him  like  a  wave.  What !  he  should  never  see  her 
again  ! 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  311 

Oh !  those  caresses  of  the  night  before  in  the  cabin 
of  the  swamp  were  clinging  to  his  arms  and  legs  like 
serpents.  They  twined  about  his  body  as  creeping 
plants  about  the  branches  of  the  tamarisk,  or  as  one 
eel  about  another :  biting  at  his  heart.  And  he  shivered 
from  head  to  foot. 

"Ah  !  the  witch  !  "  he  repeated.  "Ah  !  the  witch  ! 
What !  never  again  !  ' ' 

Never  again  ! — Why,  did  he  not  think  that  night  that 
he  should  be  able  to  keep  her  on  his  island;  that  it 
would  last  a  year  at  least,  until  the  next  year's  fetes; 
that  he  would  have  the  wild  beast  to  himself  in  the 
desert,  in  his  wild  beast's  lair — all  to  himself,  with  her 
lithe,  graceful  body,  her  ankle-rings  and  bracelets,  and 
her  beggar  queen's  crown? 

But  did  she  not  love  him  ?  Had  it  all  been  mere 
trickery  and  craft  on  her  part  ? 

The  horse's  blood  flowed  freely  under  the  drover's 
spurs;  but  the  horseman's  heart  was  bleeding  within 
him  a  thousand  times  more  cruelly. 

All  mere  trickery  and  craft !  He  repeated  it  again 
and  again  to  himself,  and  would  not  believe  it. 

That  she  was  false  to  the  core,  he  firmly  believed, 
and,  by  dint  of  thinking  about  it,  soon  ceased  to  believe 
it.  That  would  have  been  too  horrible,  really !  His 
self-pity  and  the  feeling  that  he  must  be  proud  of  her 
forced  back  the  thought,  which,  driven  away  for  a 
moment,  returned   again   at   once   with  more  force  as 


312  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

a  sure,  proven,  established  fact.  It  returned  like  a  flash 
of  light  which  hurt  his  eyes.  Yes,  yes,  she  was  false 
to  the  core  !  yes,  from  pure  wantonness  the  woman  had 
deceived  him  again  and  again  since  the  day  of  the 
bath,  when  she  exhibited  her  naked  body  to  him  with 
the  deliberate  purpose  of  leading  him  astray,  of  leaving 
him,  some  day,  stranded  in  the  desert,  without  his 
fiancee,  without  his  love — alone. 

And  he  struggled  desperately  to  see  her  again — in  his 
memory  at  least — in  order  to  question  her  crafty  features, 
but,  try  as  he  would,  his  mind  was  unable  to  restore  the 
picture,  drowned  as  it  was  beneath  a  wavering,  irritating 
mist.  He  opened  his  eyes  to  their  fullest  extent,  as  if, 
by  causing  them  to  express  a  fixed  determination  to  see 
her  again,  he  could  compel  her  to  appear  before  him  in 
flesh  and  blood.  And  he  no  longer  saw  the  trees  or 
the  moor  that  lay  before  him,  or  the  sky  or  the  horizon, 
but  neither  did  he  see  her  whose  image  he  sought  to 
evoke.  Then  he  suddenly  closed  his  eyes,  and  for  a 
brief  second — in  the  darkness — he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
her.  Was  it  really  she?  He  had  not  time  to  recog- 
nize her.  Once,  however,  the  image  became  clearer, 
and  he  saw  her;  but  still  it  was  only  a  shadowy  face, 
still  veiled  with  falsehood  and  impenetrable  to  him. 

What  he  was  seeking  was  her  real  face,  which  did 
NOT  EXIST,  for  a  face  is  the  expression  of  a  soul,  and 
she  had  no  soul.  Had  she  ever  loved  him?  that  is 
what  he  would  have  liked  to  ascertain,  if  nothing  more. 


(t\}apm  XXMi 


She  went  to  the  farther  end  of  the  Allee  des  Alyscamps, 
between  the  rows  of  tall  poplars,  atnid  the  stone  monu- 
me/zts,  and  lighted  a  fire  of  twigs,  to  give  her  light 
enough  to  look  about  and  select  a  spot  where  she  could 
sleep  comfortably. 


312  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

a  sure,  proven,  established  fact.     It  n  ♦  •  ^ 

of  light  which  hurt  his  eyes.     Yes,  ....    ..... 

to  tlie  core  !  yes,  from  pure  wanton  n  voman  had 

deceived   him   again  and  again  ^   day  of  the 

bath,  when  she  exhibited  her  nak..  ,  ■  ,viy  to  him  with 
the  deliberate  purpose  of  leading  h.;m  astray,  of  leaving 
him,  some  day,  stranded  in  the  desert,  without  his 
fiancee,  without  his  love — alonf^. 

And  he  struii|ft*4e«^eriS?l!^Aff^  her  again — in  his 

memory  at  least — iu  order  tOi]i'    '     •    her  crafty  features, 

but,  try  as  he  '.vould,  his  mind  >n  able  to  restore  the 

,^<^>iV^,K]V>5s>s  >^hi^^^  *tonfeM>>»\^^\^r'Jfi|^iH%iting 

flesh  and  blood.     And  he  no  1'..  .    r,  ^av/  ihe   trees  or 

the  moor  that  lay  before  him,  (  \y  or  tne  horizon, 

but  neither  did  he  see  her  who^..   unage  he  sought  to 

evoke.     Then  he  suddenly  cli  '   s   eyes,  and  for  a 

bri  ■■  nd — in  the  darkness — Iw   «  atight  a  glimpse  of 

hf  it  really  she?     He  had  not  time  to  recog- 

ni^H.  iici.  .  however,  the  ima^^^e  became  clearer, 

and  h'  '   't  still  it  was  only  a  shadowy  face, 

^'ill  vi  hood  and  impenetrable  to  him. 

W'iaaL  lit  wab  m. eking  was  her  real  face,  which  did 

r  a  face  is  the  expression  of  a  soul,  and 

'    she   ever   loved   him?  that  is 

uiiat  he  wouivi  iiuve  iiKed  to  ascertain,  if  :. .thing  more. 


f'^r-.?w«*(i  --iLi^^^rqi--  lii'-^'VSC 

;-   -  .  .     -■  -^-..  ■■■■  -■^-^^. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  313 

Had  she  smiled  on  Rampal  ?  Perhaps — God  !  could  it 
be  possible  ?  Who  knows  ?  Of  what  was  she  not  capa- 
ble to  consummate  her  crime  ? — And  yet  he  secretly- 
admired  her  for  the  extraordinary  perfidy  he  attributed 
to  her.  The  Saracen  blood,  the  blood  of  heathen  pirates, 
did  not  flow  in  his  veins  for  nothing. 

Yes,  indeed,  if,  in  her  hate-inspired  work,  she  had  had 
need  of  Rampal,  with  whom  he  had  several  times  seen 
her  talking,  was  it  not  possible  that  she  had  given  her- 
self to  him  in  order  to  make  him  absolutely  submissive 
to  her  will?  What  was  he  thinking  of?  Given  her- 
self to  him  ?  No,  not  that ! — Not  in  its  fullest  meaning, 
at  all  events — but  she  might  have  let  him  steal  a  kiss — 
a  long  kiss,  perhaps — from  her  lips.  And  the  herdsman 
felt  the  keen  point  of  the  spear  of  jealousy  pierce  his 
heart. 

He  thought  and  thought,  feverish  with  passion,  ex- 
cited by  his  excessive  exertions  for  several  days  past, 
and  he  rode  through  the  fields  and  swamps,  amid  the 
grass  and  stones  of  Crau,  surrounded  by  buzzing  insects 
maddened  by  the  heat,  which  was  terrible. 

Great  God  !  only  the  night  before,  he  had  believed 
that  she  had  a  veritable  woman's  passion  for  him,  a 
passion  like  those  he  had  often  aroused  in  women,  with 
his  strength,  his  courage,  and  his  prowess  as  horse- 
breaker  and  cavalier.  And  as  she  was  the  daughter  of 
a  free  race,  and  queen  of  her  tribe,  he  had  been  proud 
of  his  conquest.     He  had  straightened  himself  up  in 


314  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

his  saddle,  like  a  crowned  king,  conqueror  in  many- 
battles.  He  had  handled  his  spear  with  a  firmer  hand. 
He  had  glanced  proudly  at  the  other  drovers,  his 
comrades,  with  a  distinct  feeling  that  he  was  ''better 
than  they,"  since  this  savage  queen,  who,  in  her  travels, 
had  doubtless  seen  so  many  brave  and  comely  men,  had 
chosen  him — even  though  he  were  not  the  first ! — that 
she,  whom  the  laws  of  her  people  forbade  to  love  a 
European  dog,  the  slave  of  cities,  had  chosen  him,  the 
drover  of  Camargue  ! 

Now  that  that  happiness  was  gone  from  him,  he  sud- 
denly realized  its  value.  An  immense  void  lay  before 
him.  For  the  first  time,  the  desert  seemed  a  melancholy 
place  to  him,  too  vast,  too  bare.  He  realized  that  hence- 
forth his  whole  life  would  lie  in  the  past.  He  was  no 
longer  the  king  !  He  would  never  be  the  king  again  ! 
She  had  never  loved  him  !  And  she  had  pretended 
that  she  did ! 

But  when  she  had  cried  out  and  turned  pale  in  his 
arms,  had  she  not  forgotten  that  she  was  acting  a  lie  ? 
If  that  were  so,  she  must  be  very  sure  of  finding  else- 
where such  ardent  caresses  as  his,  from  another.  Other- 
wise she  would  not  have  fled,  for  he  scouted  the  idea 
that  she  was  afraid.  Such  a  one  as  she  could  have  no 
fear  !  And  if,  as  he  thought  the  night  before,  he  had 
really  taken  her  fancy,  w'ould  she  not  have  remained, 
guilty  or  not,  to  enjoy  his  caresses  anew,  even  though 
she  were  to  die  of  them  ? 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  315 

But  she  would  not  have  died  of  them  !  She,  sorceress 
as  she  was,  must  have  known  that  he  would  have  for- 
given everything.  Therefore  she  had  wanted  to  go. 
She  cared  nothing  for  him.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  it 
had  pleased  her  to  keep  him  with  her,  to  continue  their 
liaison,  she  would  have  found  a  way  to  do  it,  in  spite 
of  everything.  She  had  only  to  desire  to  do  it.  She 
did  not  desire  ! — Even  so,  he  desired  her ! 

He  rode  away  at  headlong  speed.  He  must  find  her 
again.  Then  they  would  see!  And  he  circled  round 
the  cabin  in  the  swamp  like  a  hawk,  examining  all  the 
clumps  of  thorn-broom,  all  the  tamarisks  and  reeds. 
Oh  !  he  would  find  her ! 

He  had  been  riding  for  several  hours,  and  he  began 
to  feel  that  his  quest  was  useless.  If  she  were  outside 
the  limits  of  the  last  greater  circle  that  he  had  described 
in  his  search  for  her,  it  was  all  over !  he  was  too  late. 

At  last,  convinced  of  his  discomfiture,  he  leaped  from 
his  horse  and  seated  himself  on  the  sloping  bank  of  a 
ditch.  It  was  near  midday.  He  was  neither  hungry 
nor  thirsty,  but  the  sun  told  him  that  it  was  midday. 

The  gnats  were  humming  about  his  ears,  devouring 
him,  riddling  the  hide  of  his  horse,  who  hung  his  head 
and  sniffed  at  a  tuft  of  salt  grass  without  eating  it,  pull- 
ing a  little  upon  the  rein  which  Renaud,  still  seated, 
held  loosely  in  his  hand. 

Renaud  was  looking  straight  before  him,  and  now 
that  he  was  assured  of  his  misfortune,  now  that  he  had 


3i6  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

neither  betrothed  nor  mistress,  neither  present  nor  future, 
he  felt  that  he  was  becoming  cold  and  hard,  and  was 
astonished  to  find  it  so.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  his 
misfortune  had  happened  to  a  piece  of  wood  or  stone. 
The  wood  and  the  stone  were  himself  How  could  he 
have  had  such  dread  of  the  certainty  that  had  come  to 
him  at  last?  While  he  had  that  dread,  he  still  hoped 
and  suffered.  Now  that  all  was  said,  he  found  that  he 
was  insensible  to  it  all — dead,  in  a  measure.  And  that 
gratified  him. 

He  who  had  wept  so  bitterly  the  night  that  he  tried 
to  put  aside  his  nascent  passion,  now,  in  this  final  catas- 
trophe, which  should  have  called  forth  all  the  tears  in 
his  body,  felt  as  if  the  springs  had  run  dry.  Instead 
of  being  more  deeply  moved  than  ever,  he  found  that 
he  was  strangely  composed,  as  if  armed  against  fate. — 
He  received  the  blow  like  a  soldier,  like  a  drover.  His 
tranquillity  became  more  pronounced  and  more  extra- 
ordinary as  the  excessive  severity  of  the  disaster  became 
more  certain. 

TranquilUty  for  an  hour,  perhaps  !  But  what  did  that 
matter?  He  had  no  suspicion  of  it.  He  found  that 
he  was  strong  in  the  face  of  disaster.  Ah !  she  could 
make  up  her  mind  to  go?  She  was  laughing  at  me? 
Very  good  !  I  have  no  need  of  her,  the  vagabond  !  I 
have  seen  through  the  sorceress  !  I  know  her,  I  know 
her !     Good-evening ! 

He  rose,  to  return  home.     As  he  raised  his  head,  he 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE 


317 


saw  the  gitana — five  hundred  yards  ahead  of  him. — Her 
back  was  turned  to  him,  and  she  was  walking  tranquilly 
along. 

In  a  twinkling,  he  was  in  the  saddle.  "Stop!" 
Blanchet,  smarting  under  a  blow  from  the  stirrup-leather, 
flew  over  the  ground,  making  the  sand  and  stones  fly, 
snorting  with  wrath  as  the  spur  tore  his  flank.  In  four 
minutes  they  made  half  a  league.  The  gipsy,  still  in 
front,  with  her  back  turned  to  them,  walked  quietly 
along.  It  was  her  orange  handkerchief,  her  copper 
crown,  her  undulating  gait.      It  was  certainly  she  ! 

Suddenly,  when  she  reached  the  shore  of  a  pond,  she 
walked  out,  with  the  same  tranquil  step,  upon  the  sur- 
face of  the  water,  which  bore  her  weight  as  if  it  were 
covered  with  ice ;  while,  not  far  away,  a  large  brig, 
decked  out  with  flags,  was  bearing  down  upon  him, 
with  all  sail  set,  through  the  furze-bushes  and  prickly 
oaks  of  Crau,  across  the  arid  fields. 

Renaud  sadly  hung  his  head.  The  brig  explained  it 
all.  It  was  all  a  spectre  due  to  the  mirage  !  Discour- 
agement came  upon  the  man  and  crushed  him. 

Thus,  all  the  strength  he  had  expended,  his  shameful 
acceptance  of  such  a  love,  his  toilsome  day  of  fruitless 
search,  after  the  mad  ride  of  the  preceding  night,  the 
exhaustion  of  horse  and  rider,  all  came  to  an  end  in 
the  endless  trickery  of  the  mirage  ! 

The  sorceress  must  be  far  away  !  And  in  what  direc- 
tion?   There  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  abandon 


3iS  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

the  pursuit.  He  retraced  his  steps  to  the  Icard  farm. 
The  fruitlessness  of  the  effort  affected  him  more  keenly 
than  the  effort  itself 

He  no  longer  looked  about,  he  no  longer  thought, 
he  no  longer  loved  or  hated.  Weariness  had  suddenly 
fallen  upon  his  shoulders  and  his  loins  like  a  weight  too 
heavy  to  be  borne.  He  rode  on,  bent  almost  double, 
swaying  like  an  inert  thing,  with  the  motion  of  his 
horse.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  falling  from  a  great  height 
in  a  sort  of  sick  man's  dream.  His  eyes,  worn  out  with 
gazing  over  the  fields  and  scrutinizing  every  bush,  closed 
in  spite  of  him.  His  nerveless  hand  knew  not  where 
the  reins  were ;  nor  did  his  brain  know  what  had  become 
of  his  ideas. 

Blanchet  went  forward  mechanically,  with  his  head 
almost  touching  the  ground.  He,  too,  was  without  will- 
power, overdone,  exhausted,  his  eyes  injected  with  blood; 
his  breath  was  short  and  quick,  and  his  flanks  beat  the 
charge. 

At  another  time,  the  careful  horseman,  who  loved  his 
beasts,  would  very  quickly  have  noticed  that  his  horse's 
wind  was  broken,  when  he  felt  his  sides  rise  and  fall 
with  that  short,  hard,  jerky  breath  ;  but  Renaud  was 
conscious  of  nothing.  There  was  nothing  in  his  head 
but  a  burning  void.  He  did  not  even  long  for  shade 
or  rest.  He  was  suffering  from  the  utter  dejection  that 
follows  terrible  crises,  from  the  great  sorrow  caused  by 
death,  from  hopeless  despair.     Overwhelmed  as  he  was 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  319 

by  his  selfish  weariness,  if  he  had  been  capable  of  recog- 
nizing any  sentiment  in  his  mind,  he  would  have  found 
there  a  vague,  cowardly  feeling  of  annoyance  at  having 
to  enter  a  sick-chamber,  at  having  to  v/itness  the  spec- 
tacle of  Livette's  suffering.  He  would  have  liked — but 
he  had  not  the  strength  to  do  it — to  dismount  from  his 
horse,  to  lie  down  in  the  fresh  air,  under  a  tamarisk,  and 
sleep  there  a  long,  long  time  ;  to  forget  himself,  to  cease 
to  see  or  speak  or  hear  or  listen  or  exist ! — He  was  like 
one  walking  in  his  sleep. 

Suddenly  Blanchet  stopped,  and  began  to  tremble  in 
every  limb,  and,  before  his  rider  had  come  to  his  senses, 
his  four  legs,  planted  stiffly  like  stakes,  seemed  to  be 
broken  by  a  single  blow,  and  he  fell  in  a  heap. 

Renaud  awoke,  standing  on  his  feet  beside  his  fallen 
horse.  Blanchet  was  dying.  It  was  soon  over.  The 
honest  creature  opened,  to  an  unnatural  width,  his  great 
glazed  eyes,  green  as  the  stagnant  water  in  the  swamps, 
and  filled  with  that  wondering  expression  which  the 
infinite  mystery  of  living  or  of  having  lived  imparts  to 
the  gaze  of  little  children,  animals,  and  dying  men ;  he 
straightened  out  his  four  legs,  trembling  like  the  reeds 
in  the  marshes.  A  shiver  ran  over  his  whole  body, 
riddled  with  the  stings  of  a  myriad  of  gnats  and  great 
flies,  some  of  which  flew  up  into  the  air  and  settled 
down  again  in  the  corners  of  the  dim,  wide-open  eyes. 
Then  the  poor  creature  became  motionless,  with  an 
indefinable  something  that  was  alarming  and  terrible  in 


320  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

his  immobility,  something  that  put  joy  to  flight,  that 
seemed  to  imply  finality.  It  was  death.  Blanchet  had 
ended  his  humble  Camarguese  life  in  the  open  desert, 
in  the  bright  sunlight.  Livette's  horse  was  dead  in  the 
service  of  Renaud's  passion  for  Zinzara ! 

The  faithful  beast  did  not  know  what  had  happened ; 
he  did  not  know  the  reason  of  the  forced  journeys,  the 
multiplied  wounds  inflicted  by  Renaud's  spurs,  by  the 
stings  of  the  gadflies,  and  by  Zinzara's  pin,  buried  in 
his  flesh ;  he  had  submitted,  without  a  murmur,  to  the 
destiny  that  bade  him  suffer  at  the  hands  of  those  who 
might  have  made  life  pleasanter  for  him,  and,  as  he  lay 
dead,  his  eyes  still  expressed  his  endless  amazement  at 
his  failure  to  understand  what  was  expected  of  him. 

It  was  all  over.  He  was  dead.  The  affectionate 
creature  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  violence  and  malig- 
nity of  human  passions.  Man  had  betrayed  him  for  a 
woman's  sake.  And  now  his  graceful  form,  made  for 
swift  movement,  was  infinitely  sad  to  see,  because  the 
eye  could  see  clearly  all  that  there  was  in  its  immobil- 
ity contrary  to  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  designed — 
and  irreparable. 

Renaud  gazed  stupidly  at  him. — He  saw  again,  like  so 
many  reproachful  words,  Blanchet's  last  look,  his  short, 
rapid  breath,  the  shudder  that  ran  over  his  bleeding  skin. 
And,  restored  to  his  senses  by  this  unforeseen  catastrophe 
which  awoke  a  thousand  salutary  thoughts  in  his  mind, 
he  felt  his  heart  grow  soft.     He  burst  into  tears. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  321 

Thus  Blanchet  served  his  mistress  still  by  his  death. 
*' Everything  is  of  some  use,"  said  Sigaud. 

Renaud  stooped  and  returned,  upon  his  still  warm 
nostrils,  the  kiss  he  had  received  from  him  on  the  day 
of  his  first  despair;  then,  having  removed  the  saddle  and 
bridle  and  concealed  them  in  a  safe  place,  he  returned 
on  foot  to  the  Icard  farm,  with  an  intense,  affectionate 
desire  to  do  his  utmost  to  care  for  and  comfort  poor 
Livette,  for  the  death  of  her  horse  brought  him  back 
to  her  more  quickly  than  anything  else  could  have 
done. 

He  promised  himself  that  he  would  return  and  bury 
Blanchet,  but  he  did  not  have  time.  The  good  horse 
belonged  to  the  vulture  and  the  eagle. 

In  the  evening  of  that  same  day,  while  Livette,  sleep- 
ing soundly,  seemed  to  everybody  to  be  out  of  danger, — 
while  Renaud  lay,  like  a  dog,  in  front  of  her  door, 
determined  to  defend  and  save  her, — Zinzara  arrived  at 
the  Alyscamps  at  Aries. 

There,  thinking  that  Renaud  might,  with  the  devil's 
assistance,  succeed  in  overtaking  her, — although  she 
may  have  had  her  reasons  for  thinking  that  his  horse 
was  not  in  condition  for  service  at  that  time, — she  left 
her  house  on  wheels,  in  order  that  she  might  not  be 
taken  by  surprise  therein  like  a  wild  beast  in  its  lair, — 
not  from  fear,  but  because  she  was  desirous,  before  all 
else,  not  to  see  him  again.  She  went  to  the  farther  end 
of  the  Allee  des  Alyscamps,  between  the  rows  of  tall 


322  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

poplars,  amid  the  stone  monuments,  and  lighted  a  fire 
of  twigs,  to  give  her  liglit  enough  to  look  about  and 
select  a  spot  where  she  could  sleep  comfortably. 

She  went  there  late,  when  the  lovers  who  congregate 
there  on  May  evenings,  to  make  love  upon  the  tombs, 
had  returned  to  the  sleeping  city. 

Along  the  whole  length  of  the  avenue,  between  the 
tall,  straight  poplars,  nm  two  rows  of  sarcophagi,  some 
very  high,  with  massive  lids,  others  low  and  without 
lids,  with  a  few  scattered  blossoms,  sown  by  the  wind, 
at  the  bottom.  The  dead  who  once  slept  there  were 
sent  down  to  Aries  in  sealed  urns,  abandoned  to  the 
current  of  the  Rhone  by  the  cities  farther  up  the  river. 
Now  flowers  are  springing  from  their  dust ;  and  their 
open  tombs  are  nothing  more  than  beds  for  vagabonds 
and  lovers. 

By  the  bright  light  of  her  fire,  which  cast  her  shadow, 
enormously  exaggerated,  upon  the  wall  of  the  ruined 
chapel,  Zinzara  selected  her  couch.  She  tossed  an  arm- 
ful of  grass  and  leaves  upon  the  bottom  of  a  sarcoph- 
agus; and,  while  the  nightingale,  who  builds  his  nest 
there  every  year,  was  singing  for  dear  life,  the  strange 
creature  slept  peacefully,  with  her  face  to  the  sky,  trust- 
ing in  her  destiny;  and,  as  a  ray  of  moonlight  fell  upon 
her  calm  face  with  its  closed  eyelids,  the  sorceress  resem- 
bled her  black  mummy,  which  concealed  and  idealized 
corruption — embalmed  beneath  a  golden  mask. 


XXIV 

IN    THE    GARGATE 

When  he  received  Zinzara's  message  from  the  gipsy 
child,  Rampal,  who  was  still  suffering  from  his  fall  of 
a  few  days  before,  did  not  think  of  going  in  person  to 
surprise  Renaud.  He  did  better  than  that.  He  went 
at  once  to  Livette,  and  told  her  of  the  rendezvous  at 
the  cabin. 

''Your  lover,  Livette,  who  defends  you  so  fiercely 
against  a  harmless  kiss,  is  with  a  woman  to-night — you 
ought  to  be  able  to  guess  who  she  is — in  the  Conscript's 
Hut,  near  the  Icard  farm." 

As  Livette  stood  aghast,  with  pale  cheeks,  he  con- 
tinued : 

"Your  father  has  good  horses;  if  you  want  to  see 
for  yourself,  you  can.     It  will  be  worth  your  while." 

''Thanks,  Rampal,"  said  Livette. 

Not  for  an  instant  did  she  doubt  the  truth  of  what 
he  told  her,  and  she  said  to  her  father: 

"  Go  with  me  to  the  Icard  farm,  father,  as  you  know 
the  people  there.     Let  us  go  to  the  Icard  farm  at  once  ; 


324  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

my  happiness  depends  on  it.  There  is  something  there 
that  I  want  to  see  to-morrow  morning." 

The  poor  man  did  not  understand,  but  he  always 
yielded  to  her  caprice.  They  set  out  at  once  for  the 
Chateau  d'Avignon. 

They  left  the  wagon  at  the  chateau ;  they  harnessed 
the  best  pair  of  horses  to  the  cabriolet,  and  made  seven 
or  eight  leagues  without  stopping. 

"  Thanks,  father.  I  must  be  here  to-morrow  morning. 
I  will  tell  you  why " 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  at  night. 

When  all  were  in  bed,  Livette,  being  familiar  with  "the 
place,"  which  her  father  had  pointed  out  to  her  anew  at 
her  request, — Livette  furtively  left  the  house  to  prowl 
about  the  spot  where  disaster  awaited  her,  for  love  knows 
no  obstacles,  and  we  follow  our  destiny  through  every- 
thing, and  rush  on  to  death  in  pursuit  of  our  last  sorrow. 

And  then  ? — Ah  !  throughout  the  visions  of  her  sick- 
bed Livette  constantly  lived  over  that  terrible  moment 
when  she  was  prowling  around  the  swamp.  In  truth, 
she  was  still  there,  in  agony  of  mind. 

About  the  swamp,  in  the  darkness,  Livette  hovered 
like  a  sea-gull  in  distress.  Like  a  lost  soul  from  hell 
she  flitted  about  the  edges  of  the  bog,  trying  to  pierce 
with  her  gaze  the  dark  clumps  of  reeds  and  tamarisks. 

From  time  to  time,  according  to  the  spot  from  which 
she  looked,  she  could  see  the  gray  roof  of  the  cabin, 
silvered  by  the  moonlight. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  325 

Was  any  one  there  ?  Had  Rampal  told  her  the  truth  ? 
Ought  she  to  lose  this  opportunity  of  convincing  herself 
with  her  own  eyes  of  Renaud's  treachery? 

Should  she  give  her  life  to  a  traitor  without  endeav- 
oring to  unmask  him,  although  warned?  With  her 
widely  dilated  eyes,  she  imagined  that  she  saw  lights 
that  did  not  exist ;  or — if  she  did  really  see  a  feeble 
gleam  through  the  chinks  in  the  door — she  refused  to 
believe  her  eyes. 

The  blood  was  tingling  in  her  ears,  and  she  thought 
she  could  hear  voices.  It  seemed  to  her  at  times  as  if 
her  head  were  bursting.  She  could  see,  inside  her  head, 
beneath  her  skull,  a  great  white  light,  and  in  the  centre 
of  the  light  Renaud  and  the  gipsy  together.  Oh  !  to 
think  of  not  finding  out ! 

And,  if  it  should  be  so,  what  should  she  do? 

The  essential  thing  was  to  find  out.  Afterward,  she 
would  see.  If  she  were  strong  enough,  if  she  could 
do  it — she  would  certainly  kill  the  woman. — How? 
Livette  did  not  know.  Simply  with  a  look,  perhaps. — 
Madness  rises  from  the  swamps  with  the  miasmatic  ex- 
halations at  night.  Livette  felt  that  she  was  going 
mad. 

" How  do  you  get  to  the  cabin? "  she  had  asked  her 
father. 

Ah  !  yes,  the  path  is  marked  by  stakes,  is  it  not  ?  To 
the  left  of  the  stakes  is  the  path.  She  cannot  see  the 
tops  of  the  stakes  in  the  dark  water.     Frogs  were  sitting 


326  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

on  them,  perhaps,  to  look  at  the  moon;  or  turtles  on 
those  that  were  just  level  with  the  surface.  But  no,  it 
was  grass  that  covered  them  all.  And  Livette's  eyes 
ached  with  her  endeavors  to  open  them  wider  in  the 
darkness,  and  find  some  sign  upon  the  indistinct  objects 
about  her. 

But  suppose  Rampal  had  deceived  her  ? 

At  one  time,  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  could  hear 
something  resembling  the  gipsy  music  that  made  the 
snakes  dance — but  so  weak  !  Surely  it  was  in  her  poor, 
tired  head, — for  if  it  had  been  the  real  music,  all  the 
reptiles  in  the  swamp  would  have  come  out  to  dance,  all 
at  once,  in  the  moonlight. 

Bah !  Why  should  she  be  afraid  ?  As  if  there  were 
so  very  many  of  the  creatures  in  the  country !  They 
are  not"  fond  of  the  salt  in  the  bogs,  nor  the  high  winds. 

She  hovered  about  the  swamp  like  a  sea-gull  lost  at 
sea ! 

"Yes,  yes,  this  is  the  way,  here  is  the  path  under  the 
water  and  the  stakes  that  mark  it !  I  must  keep  the 
stakes  at  my  right  as  I  walk  along." 

She  starts  to  take  the  first  step,  and  dares  not — but 
suddenly  the  sound  of  voices  comes  to  her  ears.  She 
distinguishes  two  voices — two  ! — beyond  any  question. 
And  now  it  is  surely  the  metallic  sound  of  the  tambou- 
rine that  floats  through  the  reeds  in  the  moonlight, 
bringing  to  her  heart  the  frightful  vision  of  the  other's 
joy! 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  327 

She  will  go.  After  all,  since  her  unhappiness  is 
certain,  what  matter  if  she  die  of  it  !  Ah  !  how  bitter 
would  be  his  punishment  if,  on  coming  out,  at  daybreak, 
he  should  find  her  there,  drowned  ! 

She  makes  a  step ;  she  sinks  !  but  she  does  not  cry  out. 
No,  she  will  extricate  herself  unaided — she  must.  She 
clings  to  the  long  grass,  to  the  reeds  which  break  in  her 
hands.  She  is  sinking  !  Ah  !  God  !  is  she  to  die  there? 
They  would  be  too  well  pleased,  aye,  both  of  them,  to 
have  caused  her  death  !  Therefore  she  must  not  die  ! 
She  will  not !  She  struggles,  and  sinks  deeper.  As  she 
lifts  one  foot,  she  rests  her  weight  on  the  other,  which 
goes  down,  down,  and  the  ooze  gains  upon  her.  It  rises 
to  her  waist ;  and  still  she  cannot  refrain  from  raising 
her  feet,  one  after  the  other,  as  if  to  climb  an  imaginary 
stairway,  the  solid  ladder  that  she  dreams  of  but  cannot 
find! 

With  every  upward  effort  she  sinks  lower ;  it  is  horri- 
ble. Her  hands  are  so  small  that  she  does  not  grasp 
enough  grass,  enough  reeds,  at  once  !  Everything  about 
her  yields,  everything  fails  to  give  support.  How  the 
reeds  break  between  her  fingers  !  like  grass  threads  !  It 
seems  to  her  that  clammy  creatures  are  rubbing  against 
her  legs,  her  hands — ah  !  yes,  the  snakes — the  blood- 
suckers !  She  will  be  eaten  alive  by  the  bloodsuckers. — 
But  where  is  the  stake,  near  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  that 
she  thought  she  saw  a  moment  ago  ?  She  lets  go  the 
grass  to  which  she  is  clinging,  with  the  result  that  she 


328  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

sinks  deeper,  still  deeper.  Now  the  cold  water  sub- 
merges her  bosom,  surrounds  her  neck,  crawls  up  toward 
her  mouth.  Will  she  be  compelled  in  a  moment  to 
drink  that  filthy  water  ?  At  that  thought,  she  makes  one 
final  effort.  Her  dishevelled  locks  cling  about  her  neck, 
as  if  to  strangle  her,  all  drenched  and  cold  and  slimy, 
like  veritable  snakes! — She  struggles,  tosses  her  hands 
about  this  way  and  that — until  one  of  them  comes  in 
contact  with  the  wooden  stake,  firmly  planted  in  the 
ground. — Saintes  Maries  ! — She  seizes  it,  twines  her  fin- 
gers about  it,  digs  her  nails  into  it,  and  does  not  relax 
her  hold.  Nor  will  she,  even  when  she  is  dead  !  But  her 
arm  no  longer  has  the  strength  to  raise  her,  and  her  head 
falls  heavily  back — her  eyes  close.  Is  this  death? — It 
was  at  that  moment,  just  as  she  lost  consciousness,  that 
the  brave-hearted  maid  cried  out, — not  until  then.  And 
her  cry  rang  out  over  the  swamps,  like  the  call  of  the 
birds  of  passage,  which  ceaselessly,  over  all  the  waters 
upon  earth,  seek  the  repose  that  can  never  be  found. 

That  ghastly  vision  recurred  again  and  again  to 
Livette,  while  the  women  of  the  Icard  farm  were  busy- 
ing themselves,  a  little  too  noisily,  around  her  bed.  At 
last,  there  was  silence  in  her  room.  She  saw  her  father 
come  in,  but  she  did  not  choose  to  explain  anything 
to  him.  She  sent  word  to  the  grandmother  not  to  be 
anxious,  that  she  would  return  home  in  three  days. 
Livette  asked  to  see  Renaud.  Her  father  went  to  find 
him.     She  closed  her  eyes. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  329 

She  fancied  that  she  could  remember,  now,  certain 
things  that  happened  to  her  during  her  sleep  of  death 
in  the  gargate,  but  were  not  reproduced  in  her  dream. 
She  felt  Renaud's  arms  lifting  her  out  of  the  mire,  and 
that,  after  all,  is  the  one  thing  to  be  desired,  more  than 
life  itself — the  protection  of  the  man  she  loved,  her 
lover's  mourning  for  her,  thinking  that  she  was  dead. — 
But  before  that,  a  moment  before,  had  she  not  felt  the 
weight  of  a  fixed  gaze  upon  her  ? — She  had  looked  dimly 
forth  between  her  drooping  eyelids,  through  her  long 
lashes  which  seemed  to  her  like  a  thick  grating ;  and 
she  fancied  that  she  saw  the  gipsy,  the  ill-omened  gitana, 
standing  before  her.  "Yes,  it  is  she,  it  is  really  she. 
She  is  standing  here  beside  me.  She  looks  very,  very 
tall.  Her  head  touches  the  sky.  She  is  on  the  path 
leading  to  the  cabin.  She  is  just  coming  from  the  ren- 
dezvous. She  has  been  kissing  Renaud  !  When  will 
he  come?  Will  the  witch's  black  shadow,  standing  so 
straight  there,  never  go?  What  more  do  you  want, 
witch?  Don't  you  see  that  I  am  dead?  I  must  make 
you  think  I  am  dead.  Then  you  will  leave  me,  at 
last ! — The  wicked  woman  is  always  smiling.  Ah  !  there 
she  goes.— How  heavy  her  glance  was  !  And  how  tall 
she  was  !  She  kept  all  the  light  from  me.  Now  I  can 
see  the  sky  again.  Is  it  you,  Renaud,  is  it  you,  Jacques, 
who  take  me  in  your  arms  as  if  I  were  dead  ? — It  is  you, 
at  last!  " 

Thus  cried  poor  Livette,  delirious  once  more.     But 


330  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

Renaud  was  sitting  beside  her  bed  with  his  face  in  his 
hands,  listening  to  her. 

"  It  is  you,"  she  went  on  ;  *'  you  think  me  dead,  and 
I  can  feel  you  take  me  in  your  arms  and  quickly  carry 
me  away.  But  why  do  you  not  weep,  when  you  see  me 
so?  It  is  you,  at  last!  I  am  dead,  and  still  I  feel 
you.  You  have  me  in  your  arms.  Your  heart  beats 
fast.  Mine  has  ceased  to  beat.  Where  were  you,  bad 
boy  ?  What  did  you  say  to  her  ?  But  that  is  past  and 
gone! — Is  that  woman  very  dear  to  your  heart? — Why 
do  you  come  no  more  to  my  father's  house  in  the  even- 
ing? He  is  very  fond  of  you.  Grandma  is  a  dear 
old  soul.  Do  you  see  how  faithful  she  is  to  her  dead 
husband  ?  People  knew  how  to  love  one  another  better 
in  her  day,  she  says.  Is  it  true?  Do  you  believe  it, 
Jacques?  And  if  I  die,  won't  you  keep  my  memory 
sacred,  as  she  keeps  grandpa's? — Why  do  you  make  me 
suffer  so  ? — Are  we  two  never  to  walk  under  the  great 
elm  again?  Our  pretty  stone  bench  under  the  rose- 
bushes is  very  sad  now,  and  lonely  like  a  tombstone. 
Ah !  if  you  had  chosen !  I  was  pretty,  yes,  pretty, 
pretty !  And  now  I  shall  be  ugly.  For  I  have  done 
with  life,  even  if  I  am  not  dead.  My  life  is  at  an  end, 
at  an  end  !  " 


XXV 

THE    PHANTOM 

Livette,  who  had  been  carried  back  to  the  Chateau 
d' Avignon  many  days  before,  had  not  left  her  bed.  The 
fever  clung  to  her  obstinately.     Nothing  could  be  done. 

Was  it  really  true,  O  God,  that  she  was  doomed  to 

die,  and  he  to  see  it  ?     Was  he  to  lose  the  future  he  had 

dreamed  of,  a  future  of  unruffled  happiness,  of  love  and 

peace,  as  her  husband ;  the  joy  he  had  known  for  such 

a  brief  space,  of  having  a  woman,  sweet  and  dear  and 

helpless  as  a  child,  to  cherish  and  protect? — Was  he 

condemned   never  to  know  the   pleasure  of  having  a 

family — a   pleasure  that  had   been   denied  to  him,  an 

orphan,  and  of  which  he  had  often  dreamed  as  of  one 

of  the  joys  of  Paradise — was  he  condemned  never   to 

know  it,  because  he  had   forgotten    his   longing   for  a 

single  day?     The  picture,  dear  to  country-folk,  of  the 

chimney  with  the  smoke  curling  upward,  that  seems  to 

say  to  them,  as  far  as  it  can  be  seen  :    "  The  soup  is  hot, 

the  wife  is  waiting,  the  children  are  calling,"  recurred 

sometimes  to  his  mind,  and  he  sighed  profoundly. 

33^ 


332  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

The  punishment  that  he  saw  coming  upon  him  did 
not  seem  to  him  proportionate  to  the  offence.  There 
was  no  justice  in  it ! 

What  is  the  meaning  of  that  most  terrible  of  all  mys- 
teries: that  the  love  of  the  senses  is  more  powerful 
than  the  love  of  the  heart  when  separated  from  its 
object,  even  though  the  last  be  recognized  as  the  more 
certain  and  the  sweeter? 

Between  the  lofty  chapel  and  the  subterranean  crypt 
of  the  church  of  Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer,  on  the  level 
of  human  life,  does  the  miracle  come  always  from  below  ? 
And  if  it  be  so,  is  it  any  less  a  miracle?  "Which  of 
you  has  fathomed  the  meaning  of  life  ?  Who  can  say  : 
"It  is  unjust,"  or:  "It  is  useless,"  or:  "  What  I  do 
not  see  does  not  exist"?  Who  can  say  if  Livette's 
sufferings  and  Renaud's,  their  troubles  and  their  heart- 
burnings, all  the  invisible  and  inexplicable  movements 
within  themselves, — of  which  they  knew  nothing, — were 
not  preparing  the  way  for  realities  inconceivable  to  our 
minds?  The  u/ea/,  the  dream  of  what  is  best,  is  the 
essential  condition  of  the  material  development  of  man- 
kind. No  force  is  wasted;  everything  is  transformed. 
"Everything  is  of  some  use,"  said  the  old  shepherd 
Sigaud.      "It  takes  all  kinds  to  make  a  world." 

Livette  had  forgiven  Renaud,  Renaud  had  not  for- 
given himself. 

Sometimes  he  gazed  at  her,  deeply  moved,  and  he 
suffered  with  her  for  hours  at  a  time.    Sometimes  he  had 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  ^;^;^ 

sudden  fits  of  rage  against  her — paroxysms  of  wickedness, 
as  it  were.  Was  she  not  an  obstacle  in  his  path  ?  At 
such  times,  he  believed  that  he  was  possessed  by  a  devil, 
and  he  would  kneel  by  Livette's  bed  and  pray  to  the 
saints,  the  women  of  compassion. 

Ah  !  how  thin  she  was  !  Her  eyes'  seemed  to  have 
grown  larger,  and  to  have  changed  from  blue  to  black, 
because  the  pupils  were  still  dilated.  Her  long,  fair  hair 
no  longer  shone.  It  seemed  as  if  the  muddy  water  of 
the  swamp  had  taken  away  its  gloss  forever. 

She  often  started  at  noises  that  she  imagined  she  heard. 

She,  who  in  the  old  days  used  to  talk  but  little,  was 
constantly  telling  of  the  things  she  had  dreamed,  and 
she  would  be  vexed  if  they  were  not  remembered. 

The  doctors  of  Aries  tried  everything.  Nothing  was 
of  any  avail. 

"I  want  no  more  of  their  medicine,"  she  said  one 
day  to  Renaud.  "  They  might  do  very  well  for  swamp 
fever,  but  there  is  something  else  the  matter  with  me. 
It  was  my  heart  that  you  drowned.  I  never  could  be- 
lieve you  again;  it  is  much  better  that  I  should  die." 

She  had  explained  nothing  to  her  father  or  grand- 
mother. 

"  They  would  have  turned  you  out  of  the  house,"  she 
said,  "  and  I  wanted  to  see  you  to  the  end." 

Her  journey  to  the  Icard  farm,  her  nocturnal  flight, 
her  accident,  all  were  attributed  to  an  attack  of  fever, 
which  was  supposed  to   have  been   responsible  for  her 


334  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

actions,  whereas,  on  the  contrary,  her  illness  was  the 
result  of  them  all. 

Renaud,  by  a  desperate  effort,  mastered  his  passion  at 
last.  Was  it  forever?  He  chose  to  think  so,  because  it 
was  necessary  that  it  should  be  so,  in  order  to  keep  her 
alive. 

He  tried  not  to  think  of  the  other.  He  tried  to 
repent.  Every  moment  he  tore  from  his  mind  by  an 
exertion  of  his  will — as  he  would  tear  up  grass  with  his 
hand — some  one  of  his  memories.  He  told  amusing 
stories,  pretending  to  laugh   loudest  at  them. 

His  heart  was  filled  with  a  great  pity  for  Livette,  but, 
for  all  that,  you  would  not  have  had  to  lift  a  very  large 
stone  to  find  there,  in  a  spot  that  he  knew  well,  the 
sleeping  viper. 

'•I  shall  die,  I  shall  die !  " — Livette  often  said,  "but  I 
want  to  see  the  fete  of  Saintes-Maries  once  more.  I  want 
to  live  till  then.  You  must  carry  me  there  and  lay  me 
on  the  relics ;  that  is  where  I  want  to  die.  And  at  my 
burial,  I  want  the  drovers,  your  comrades,  to  follow  on 
horseback — promise  me  this — with  their  spears  reversed, 
like  the  soldiers  I  saw  at  Avignon  one  day,  marching  to 
the  cemetery,  holding  their  guns  that  way." 

AVith  a  sort  of  gaiety,  she  often  recurred  to  the  subject 
of  her  burial,  and  embellished  it  with  other  details, 
saying,  with  the  air  of  a  playful  child  : 

"There  must  be  lilies,  as  there  are  in  the  procession 
at  Saintes-Maries  when  they  go  to  bless  the  sea ;  I  want 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  335 

lots  of  lilies !  Lilies  are  so  pretty  and  white  !  they  are 
so  proud  on  their  stalks,  and  they  smell  so  sweet !  ' ' 

Meanwhile,  the  season  was  hastening  away ;  the 
months  came  and  went,  like  the  same  months  in  years 
past  for  centuries. 

Summerset  the  sky  and  land  and  sea  ablaze,  drawing 
the  last  drop  of  moisture  from  the  swamps,  sowing  the 
venomous  seeds  of  miasma  in  the  heavy  air  that  people 
breathed.  The  crops  ripened ;  then  came  the  harvest. 
It  was  autumn.  The  redbreast  sang  in  the  park  of  the 
Chateau  d' Avignon.  The  nights  grew  long  once  more. 
The  leaves  fell.     The  sad  days  of  the  year  began. 

The  buttercups  had  disappeared.  The  Vaccares,  which 
had  been  dry  all  summer,  no  longer  exposed  to  the  sun 
its  lovely  mouse-gray  bed ;  it  was  once  more  a  sea.  The 
light  golden  tint  of  the  September  sky  was  long  since 
hidden  from  sight  behind  the  rising  mists. 

The  birds  of  passage  began  anew  their  flight  over  the 
mirror-like  island  which  promised  them  abundant  prey. 
The  eagle  hurried  from  the  Alps  to  make  war  upon  the 
fish-hawks.  And  at  night,  when  the  wind  howled  and 
the  rain  fell  in  torrents,  the  storks  and  cranes  and  geese 
passed  over  in  triangular  flocks,  at  a  great  height  in  the 
drenched  atmosphere,  uttering  cries  like  cries  of  alarm. 

Livette's  suffering  became  more  intense.  She  passed 
whole  days  sitting  at  her  window. 

One  evening,  Renaud  was  sitting  beside  her,  in  silence, 
while  the  grandmother  and  Pere  Audiffret  were  dining 


:.;6  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

in  the  room  below.  The  room  was  dimly  lighted  by  a 
lamp.  Suddenly  Livette  sprang  to  her  feet,  then  fell 
back,  crying : 

"  There  she  is  !  there  she  is !  No  !  no  !  don't  go  with 
her  !     I  don't  want  you  to  !  no,  no,  Jacques !  " 

Renaud  also  had  risen,  and  was  staring  vacantly  at 
Livette ;  following  the  direction  of  her  gaze,  he  began  to 
tremble.  Outside  the  window  stood  a  pale,  uncertain, 
but  very  recognizable  spectre,  the  gipsy  herself!  He  had 
no  sooner  recognized  her  than  she  disappeared,  after 
making  a  significant  sign  to  him,  that  said :    "  Come  !  " 

It  was  not  a  vision  of  the  sick  girl's  imagination,  for 
he,  too,  had  seen  it ! 

Perhaps  the  fever-laden  island  had  sown  its  poison  in 
the  blood  of  both.  The  germs  of  fever  were  taking 
root  and  flourishing  in  them.  The  blight  of  \}ci&  paliins 
implanted  in  their  brains,  as  in  a  cloudy  mirror,  the 
image  everlastingly  repeated  of  the  familiar  plaintive 
objects  of  the  desert,  with  which  the  current  of  their 
thoughts  was  mingled. 

"  Don't  go  !  don't  go !  my  Jacques  !  " 

She  dragged  herself  along  the  floor  on  her  knees, 
shaken  with  sobs,  imploring  the  drover,  as  she  clung 
with  both  hands  to  his  jacket. 

The  father  and  grandmother  had  hastened  to  the  room. 

The  father,  too,  was  sobbing,  and  knew  not  what  to 
do.  The  grandmother  slowly  seated  herself  by  the  bed 
on  which  Renaud  had  gently  laid  Livette. 


(Kijaptcr  XXV 


In  all  tueathcrs,  sumtner  or  winter,  rain  or  shine,  he 
can  be  seen  here  and  there,  in  the  Camargue  desert,  sit- 
ting erect  and  melancholy  on  his  Jiorse,  spear  in  hand. 


KING  OF  CAMA 

■•■■■'^  1'Mow.     The  room  ^vn 
v  T  ;\-^tte  sprang 

. .  ihere  she  is!  N^  '  "o  !  don't  gr 
.  .vant  you  to  !  no,  i.  ...cqucs !  " 
i  also  had  risen,  and  \njj  staring  vacantly  at 
Liv .  I..-  J  following  the  direction  n{  Ijer  gaze,  he  began  to 
tremble.  Outside  the  window  s.t«^od  a  pale,  uncertain, 
but  very  recognizable  spectre,  t-  psy  herself!  He  had 
no  sooner  recognized  her  th  disappeared,  after 

making  a  significant  sign  to  h  .t  said :    "  Come  !  " 

It  was  not^3^i^  (f9t(]fJB^S)    .;,>[Vs  imagination,  for 
he,  too,  had  seen  it ,' 

Perhaps  the  fever-laden  is.  d  bown  its  poison  in 

s\\  ,>\<ife  ^i'Ott&-o(-^b«<*is  -^S'hswuwm  ,^-\sJk^&»«rVMse«^  taking 
-\\7.  A'WS.^\fVvS!'..-tosi^^HM  «\  t,^\\\  ^^«tt  s^-^\vyi^9^4h^a<i^^/'«-^ 

,  ini;'l;uit(.  1    in    [h<-u-  Itfains.,  .\     i.,   i   'ilQudY  mirror,   the 
.\^«fcf  sv\  -^\i'i<^j7.  ,»v,-^^iVv  ruX^Q  <^t>vV-iKSA«kW  »«Si  Ti^-^^  ■^«iv 

image  everlastingly  repeated  ^    familiar  plaintive 

objects  of  the  desert,  with  \\i..wi  the  current  of  their 
thoughts  was  mingled. 

"  Don't  go  !  don't  go  !  my  os  !  " 

She  dragged  herself  along  li;-;:  tloor  on  her  knees, 

shaken  with   sobs,   imploring  over,  as  she  clung 
\\             h  hands  to  his  jacket. 

i  ijc  uther  and  grandmothei  i  ed  to  the  room. 
r,  too,  was  sobbing,  ar.fl  knew  not  what  to 

andmother  slowly  sc  self  by  the  bed 

iich  Renaud  had  gently  lai  le. 


Mi 


:-■'    n,  (-;■]>-    11V 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  337 

Calm  and  silent,  the  old  woman  gazed  long  and  with 
a  beautiful  expression  of  perfect  trust  upon  the  copper 
crucifix  and  the  images  of  the  saints  that  hung  on  the 
wall  of  the  recess. 

And,  on  the  bed,  Livette,  uttering  cries  like  a  lost 
bird,  twining  her  fingers  about  her  as  if  clinging  to  hfe, 
to  the  reeds  in  the  swamp  wherein  she  still  fancied  that 
she  was  drowning — Livette  breathed  her  last. 

Livette  was  dead. 

The  drovers,  on  horseback,  with  spears  reversed,  at- 
tended her  body  to  the  cemetery.  Her  favorite  dog 
followed  her  thither. 

Renaud  placed  lilies  on  her  grave.  She  sleeps  in  the 
cemetery  of  Saintes- Maries,  at  the  foot  of  the  dunes, 
under  the  cultivated  lilies,  among  the  wild  asphodels, 
on  the  sea-shore. 

Renaud  returned  to  the  desert,  too  much  like  the  bull 
that,  when  wounded  in  the  arena,  returns  to  the  solitude 
of  the  swamps,  where  he  can  lick  his  wounds,  give  free 
vent  to  his  rage,  bellow  at  the  clouds,  and  to  no  pur- 
pose, but  to  his  heart's  content  tear  at  the  steel  left 
in  the  wound. 

One  day  they  found,  on  the  shore  of  the  Vaccares, 
Rampal's  bleeding  body,  pierced  by  horns  in  two  places. 
Bernard  alone  saw  his  duel  with  Renaud  one  evening, 
when  the  sky  was  red  with  the  afterglow.  They  fought 
hand  to  hand,  in  the  midst  of  the  drove,  and  Renaud, 
lifting  his  enemy  from  the  ground  in  his  arms,  laid  him 


338  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

face  upward,  dead,  on  the  horns  of  a  heifer  that  came 
rushing  at  them  and,  with  one  motion  of  her  bulky 
head,  tossed  a  corpse  into  the  air. 

Rampal  died  without  a  cry.  He  lay  three  days  where 
he  fell.  The  black  bulls,  that  mourn  nine  days  when 
one  of  their  kind  falls  dead  in  the  pasture,  bellowed 
for  three  days  around  Rampal's  body,  at  a  respectful 
distance. 

Bernard  alone  saw  the  duel  and  said  nothing ;  but  the 
people  of  the  desert  knew ;  they  guessed  the  truth. 

Since  that,  Renaud  has  become  like  a  phantom  himself. 

In  all  Aveathers,  summer  or  winter,  rain  or  shine,  he 
can  be  seen  here  and  there,  in  the  Camargue  desert, 
sitting  erect  and  melancholy  on  his  horse,  spear  in 
hand. 

He  regrets  Livette.  He  loves  Zinzara.  He  weeps  only 
for  himself,  the  wretched  creature !  He  has  lost  the 
paradise  of  affection  he  had  dreamed  of,  and  the  appetiz- 
ing hell  of  savage  love  he  had  tasted.  He  has  nothing. 
It  seems  to  him  that  Livette' s  death,  for  which  he  blames 
himself,  has  left  him  free  to  abandon  himself  to  his 
passion  for  the  other ;  but  the  other  is  absent — and, 
though  absent,  she  tortures  him  as  relentlessly  as  on  the 
day  when,  clinging  to  his  horse's  mane,  she  defied  him 
with  insulting  words,  and  aroused  his  passions,  while  he 
dared  not  shake  her  off,  trample  upon  her,  or  seize  her. 

The  memory  of  her  is  upon  him  like  the  gadfly  that 
persists  in  following  back  the  bloody  track  of  its  sting. 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  339 

Vainly  does  he  shake  himself;  he  cannot  rid  himself 
of  it.  Renaud  loves  Zinzara ;  he  longs  for  her  without 
hope,  and,  ruled  by  that  single  desire,  he  feels  no  other, 
so  that  the  unexpended  power  of  his  youth  accumulates 
within  him  and  drives  him  mad. 

The  friends'  houses,  the  fetes  he  used  formerly  to 
visit,  have  no  further  interest  for  him,  because  the  only 
being  he  seeks  cannot  be  found.  The  desert,  once 
peopled  with  hopes  in  his  eyes,  has  become  an  empty 
void.  The  roads  that  traverse  it  no  longer  lead  any- 
where. 

He  surprises  himself  sometimes,  at  night,  bellowing 
with  the  bulls,  against  the  wind  that  annoys  them,  toward 
the  distant  horizon.  He  is  like  one  possessed.  A  devil 
dwells  within  him. 

When  he  is  weary  of  wandering  about  and  of  being 
in  the  saddle,  and  chooses  to  lie  down  and  sleep  for  a 
day,  he  repairs  to  the  cabin  of  his  love,  in  the  gar  gate, 
and  there,  full  sure  of  being  undisturbed,  raves  like  a 
wild  beast,  in  his  frenzy  at  being  alone.  In  the  morn- 
ing, he  emerges  from  his  retreat,  more  depressed,  more 
miserable,  more  haunted  with  visions  than  ever. 

At  times,  he  fancies  that  he  sees  Livette  under  his 
horse's  feet,  imploring  wildly,  with  hands  outstretched — 
but  he  digs  his  spurs  into  his  horse  and  rides  on.  A 
terrible  shriek  constantly  rings  in  his  ears. 

He  rides  toward  another  spectre  that  calls  him  from 
the  farthest  point  of  the  horizon. — He  says,  to  any  one 


340 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE 


who  cares  to  listen,  that  he  has  come  from  Egypt,  where 
he  was  a  king,  and  that  he  will  return  there  some  day, 
King  of  Camargue. 

His  disordered  mind  seems  the  very  incarnation  of  the 
wild  moor.  He  fancies  that  he  is  flying  about  in  circles 
with  the  birds  of  the  swamps  that  weep  in  the  drizzling 
rain.  The  mistral  lashes  his  wings.  When  the  wind 
blows  through  his  hair,  he  pities  the  poor  grass  of  the 
plains  because  the  misiral  is  torturing  it. 

All  the  lamentations  of  the  reeds  and  swamps,  of 
the  river  and  the  sea,  are  but  the  ringing  in  his  ears, 
and  their  loud  wailing  is  constantly  punctuated  by 
a  shriek — oh  !  so  heartrending  it  is  ! — the  shriek  of 
Livette  ! 

As  the  bell-tower  of  the  church  of  Saintes-Maries  is 
filled  with  owls,  so  his  heart  is  full  of  the  remorse  of  a 
Christian ;  and  the  cure's  kindness  to  him  does  not  drive 
it  away. 

When  he  stands  upon  the  sea-shore,  many  times  he 
feels  an  overpowering  desire  to  urge  his  horse,  bleeding 
beneath  the  spur,  far  out  to  sea,  farther  and  farther,  until 
he  vanishes  in  the  direction  of  the  country,  vaguely  seen 
in  dreams,  from  which  the  saints  and  gipsies  come — but 
something  stops  him  ;  his  destiny  holds  him  back  ;  he 
belongs  to  his  kingdom. 

If  he  has  known  one  hour's  peace  of  mind,  it  was  on 
a  certain  morning  when,  among  the  usual  hideous  night- 
mares inspired  by  the    memory  of   Zinzara,  he  had   a 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  341 

pleasant  dream,  in  which  he  saw  Livette,  dressed  in 
white,  with  lilies  in  her  hands  like  the  saints  in  ch.urch 
pictures,  smiling  and  saying  to  him:  "I  have  forgiven 
you.     Forgive  yourself." 

The  respite  was  of  brief  duration,  for  the  herdsman 
did  not  know  that  excessive  repentance  is  a  crime,  when 
it  goes  so  far  as  to  dry  up  the  springs  of  will-power  in  a 
man,  when  it  renders  sterile  his  field  of  activity,  when  it 
bars  the  way  to  doing  better  in  the  future. 

Self-pardon,  at  the  proper  time,  after  due  penance  has 
been  done,  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  the  wise  among  men  ; 
for,  without  it,  the  first  misstep  would  lead  to  never- 
ending  despair,  and  would  render  all  courage  useless 
forever. 

Such  was  the  cure's  opinion,  which  Renaud  listened 
to,  in  the  confessional,  without  paying  heed  to  it. 

He  suffers,  therefore,  incessantly,  awaiting  the  hour 
when  his  suffering  shall  be  allayed.  He  is  like  the 
camping-grounds  abandoned  by  shepherds  and  flocks, 
the  Jasses  of  the  desert,  still  black  from  an  old  con- 
flagration, and  surrounded  by  briers  where  rose-bushes 
once  flourished.  He  is  like  the  aloes  that  wither  in- 
stantly in  desolation,  after  the  stalk  their  love  has  caused 
to  bloom  has  risen  high  into  the  air. 

The  dream  in  which  Renaud  saw  Livette  was  ex- 
plained to  him  several  times  by  Monsieur  le  cure,  but 
always  to  no  purpose. 

How,    indeed,    could   his   remorse    cease,    when    his 


342  l^ING  OF  CAMARGUE 

passion  still  endured,  and  when  he  was  constantly  com- 
mitting anew,  in  desire,  the  sin  that  caused  all  the 
miser)'  ? 

My  friends,  there  is  but  one  wise  course  to  pursue : 
"Plant  a  tree,  build  a  house,  rear  a  child.  Be  patient — 
everything  comes  in  due  time.  The  thing  that  does  not 
happen  in  a  hundred  years,  may  happen  in  six  thousand. 
The  future  is  still  yours  !  ' ' 

When  Renaud,  in  the  dreams  of  his  unhealthy  life, 
feels,  as  he  sometimes  does,  that  his  love  is  stronger  in 
him  than  his  passion,  it  seems  to  him  as  if  Livette  were 
drawing  him  toward  death,  but  truthful,  kindly  beings 
never  inspire  thoughts  of  self-destruction. 

Of  one  thing,  at  least,  he  is  certain.  He  feels  that 
voluntary  death  would  not  remove  him  from  the  circle 
of  the  accursed.  He  would,  on  the  contrary,  descend 
still  lower  in  the  spiral  pit  of  mortals  damned  by  love. 

They  say  that  persons  drowned  in  the  Rhone,  borne 
along  without  doubt  by  the  irresistible  current,  which 
brings  them  all  together  at  the  mouth  of  the  river, 
return,  on  certain  evenings,  to  hold  a  carnival  of  de- 
spair on  the  surface  of  the  water. 

Happy  are  they  since  they  are,  on  those  occasions, 
united. 

But  they  who  are  drowned  in  stagnant  waters,  and 
they  who,  to  join  them,  die  by  their  own  hand,  are 
never  aught  but  solitary  spectres.  They  seek  each  other 
all  the  time,  but  always  unavailingly.      They  are  the 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  343 

souls  of  the  damned.  They  wander  through  the  desert, 
calling  to  one  another ;  but  never  even  approach  or  see 
one  another ;  and  at  night,  in  the  deserts  of  Crau  and 
Camargue,  the  traveller  hears  long-drawn,  wailing  cries, 
flying  unavailingly  hither  and  thither  over  the  vast 
plains,  forever  and  forever. 

Even  the  clouds  call  and  answer  one  another  in  their 
aerial  flight. 


NOTES 

'  "  Do  not  wear  out  your  shoes  on  the  hard  roads ; 
Rather  take  boat  and  so  descend  the  Rhone. 

"  Leave  Lyon  and  Valence  behind  ; 

Salute  them  with  a  nod  as  you  pass  beneath  their  bridges. 

"  Avignon  is  the  queen, — but  pass  her  by  as  well ; 

Not  till  you  come  to  Aries  will  you  find  your  love 

"  The  plain  is  fair  and  broad,  O  comrade, 


Take  your  love  en  croupe,  and  off  you  go  !  " 

^  "  On  the  bridge  of  Avignon  every  one  must  pay  toll." 

^  The  name  Vincent  is  pronounced  very  much  like  vingt  cent, 
twenty  hundred,  or  two  thousand. 

*  "  May  this  work  of  mine,  begun  in  God's  name,  be  constantly 
blessed  witli  the  favor  of  Jesus  Christ.  May  the  Holy  Spirit  wisely 
guide  my  hand,  my  pen,  and  my  understanding." 

5  What  would  the  good  cure  have  said  had  he  been  told  that  a 
contemporary  poet.  Monsieur  Pierre  Gauthiez,  has  adopted  the  too 
common  error?  According  to  him,  an  Egj^ptian  Marie  came  to 
Camargue  in  the  boat  with  the  saints. — When  they  approached  the 
shore,  it  became  necessary  to  reward  the  devoted  boatman  who  had 
helped  them  to  accomplish  the  prodigious  journey.  One  of  them 
gave  him  a  sprig  of  rosemary  that  had  touched  the  lips  of  the 
Christ ;  another,  a  lock  of  her  fair  hair.      And  as  to  the  third — 

345 


,^6  KING  OF  CAMARGUE 

"  L'Egyptienne  au  doux  ceil  sombre, 
Debout  auprds  d'un  olivier, 
Regarda  le  beau  batelier. 

"  Elle  prit  son  voile  de  lin, 
Et  d^couvrit  sa  chair  de  vierge 
Ture  et  luisante,  ainsi  qu'un  cierge. 
Sous  le  soleil  ii  son  declin. 
Elle  fut  toule  nue,  et  comma 
Sur  le  sable  roux,  le  jeune  homme 
S'agenouillait,  la  Idvre  en  feu, 
Tendant  ses  bras  comme  vers  Dieu, 
La  sainte,  sans  robe  ni  voiles, 
Pareille  aux  celestes  etoiles, 
Lui  dit :  '  Tu  vois,  mon  batelier, 
Je  n'  ai  (-lue  Moi  pour  te  payer ! '  " 

(Translation.) 

"  TJie  Egyptian  of  the  soft  dark  eye,  standing  beside  an  olive- 
tree,  gazed  upon  the  comely  boatman. 

•'  She  put  aside  her  linen  veil  and  discovered  her  virgin  flesh,  all 
pure  and  glistening,  like  a  wax  taper,  beneath  the  setting  sun.  She 
was  quite  naked,  and,  as  the  young  man  knelt  on  the  red  sand,  with 
lips  on  fire,  holding  out  his  arms  to  her  as  if  to  God,  the  saint,  like  the 
stars  in  heaven,  wearing  no  gown  or  veil,  said  to  him  :  '  Thou  seest, 
my  boatman,  I  have  naught  but  Myself  wherewith  to  pay  thee  ! '  " 
The  spirit,  indeed,  is  willing,  but  the  flesh  is  weak. 

^  The  tarasque,  perhaps,  is  nothing  more  than  a  reproduction  of 
the  crocodile  of  tiie  RhQne,  increased  in  size  to  an  absurd  degree 
by  the  popular  imagination.  This  one,  the  last  that  was  seen  in 
Camargue,  so  they  say,  is  hanging  to-day  in  the  Hopital  dcs  Anti- 
quailles  at  Lyon,  with  an  inscription  stating  the  source  from  whence 
it  came  :  "  Gift  of  M.  le  Cure  of  Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer." 


KING  OF  CAMARGUE  347 

^  C^est  le  sort. — Sort  may  mean  fate,  and  it  may  also  mean  spell, 
being  used  in  the  latter  sense  almost  synonymously  with  sortilege. 
It  may  also  mean  chance. 

^  "When  you  were  upon  the  great  deep,  without  oars  to  row 
your  boat,  Saintes  Maries !  Naught  but  the  sea  and  sky  about 
you — with  all  your  eyes  you  appealed  to  the  verdant  shore  to  be 
gentle." 

1°  "  Beneath  the  sun,  beneath  the  stars,  with  sails  made  of  the 
gowns  you  wore — Sail  on,  O  ship! — seven  days  and  nights  you 
sailed  and  sailed  and  saw  no  vessel,  large  or  small — naught  but  the 
sea  and  the  great  deep  ! ' ' 

11  "  God,  who  makes  of  a  lightning-flash  His  scourge,  wherewith 
to  scourge  the  sky  and  sea,  Saintes  Maries !  guided  the  bark  to  a 
safe  harbor — an  angel,  who  appeared  on  board,  pointed  out  the 
way  to  the  verdant  shore." 

^^  "  Kneeling  before  God's  tabernacle,  we,  stained  with  sin  from 
birth,  do  invoke  your  power,  for  whom  God  performed  this  mira- 
cle— Holy  women,  protect  us  !  " 

'^  Comment  s'' afpelle  ton  chien? — In  common  parlance — What 
is  your  dog's  name?  The  joke  is  lost  unless  it  is  translated 
literally. 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

KING    OF    CAMARGUE 


PAGE 

THE   GIPSY   QUEEN Fronts. 

SAINTES-MARIES-DE-LA-MER .     .  l6 

A  CAMARGUE   DROVER 24 

THE   KING   OF   CAMARGUE -     •  3^ 

RAMPAL  AND   THE   GIPSY ...  56 

RENAUD    IN   THE   TOILS    OF   THE   QUEEN 64 

ON    THE   BENCH 80 

LIVETTE    AND    RENAUD 88 

ON    THE    TERRACE 96 

RENAUD    IN    PURSUIT   OF    RAMPAL 168 

LIVETTE   WATCHES   ON    THE   CHURCH    ROOF 2X6 

THE    DESCENT   OF   THE    RELICS 24O 

THE    GIPSY'S   COUCH 3'2 

RENAUD   IN   THE   DESERT ZZ^ 


349 


1 


